Dean meditated for so long that the birds were singing by the time he became aware of his surroundings again. He was sitting cross-legged on a fur rug, his armor in a pile as his clothes dried on a hanger by the fire. The servants had offered to take them after his bath, but Dean had refused, opting instead to make a clothesline out of a piece of twine and two high-backed chairs.

  It was unorthodox. Strange, even. But Dean was never one to worry about appearances. His breathing sped up, becoming shallower as he emerged from the depths of his meditative state. He felt alive, rejuvenated. But more than that, he felt… powerful.

  New essence threshold met. Upgrade of essence ability: Sunder is complete.

  Upgrade: Heavy blow damage is increased by 8, and burn now lingers on all non-magical enemies, causing prolonged damage over time. Upgrades 1/4.

  A blue box flickered in his vision, spreading itself out before him in the familiar scrawling text.

  You have unlocked a new essence ability slot. You may now choose to activate an available ability. Do you wish to do so now?

  A surge of excitement rushed through him. He had unlocked a new ability already? Dean scrolled through his windows until he found the one containing his essence slots. The white line of power had moved, ticking further towards the empty slots. The third slot, which had been previously locked, was not illuminated.

  Just how close am I to ascending to Bronze Rank? he wondered, arching a brow. He had heard of some Adventurers ascending through early ranks quickly, but this level of speed was unprecedented. Then again he did keep running into powerful enemies and consuming their essence shards. Maybe that was the key – nearly sending yourself to an early grave.

  Dean backscrolled and selected the “accept” button before wrapping his arms around his knees and studying the words that now appeared before him.

  Available essence abilities:

  Airborne strike: This ability allows the user to leap into the air, producing a heavy strike upon impact that damages and stuns all enemies. This ability can be upgraded.

  That was... interesting. Certainly, more mobility on the battlefield would be useful. He was a heavy weapon user, and while that wasn’t uncommon for Adventurers, it would put him at a disadvantage against smaller, faster opponents. Dean kept the ability in mind as he scrolled.

  Mirror: The Mirror ability allows users to project a stationary image of themselves, consuming targets, and causing mobs to change attack patterns. Can only be used once a day. This ability cannot be upgraded.

  Dean made a bored sound. Something like that might suit a rogue or a caster, but it didn’t match his fighting style. The last available ability made him pause, his eyes snagging on the small purple text beside the name.

  Null Blade (Rare): The Null Blade is a weapon of the void. While summoning this ability costs immense essence, its usefulness is versatile. It is an extension of one's sword, the ability to cut or slash at an object without physically touching it. This ability can be upgraded on a limited basis.

  “Null Blade,” said Dean aloud, rubbing at the soreness in his shoulder. “And it’s rare too. Rare abilities are supposedly more powerful. Not sure I can afford to pass this one up.”

  His finger hovered over the select button before he sighed, shrugging. He didn’t have much to lose. If the ability was poor or hard to use, he could always focus on acquiring more passive skills and upgrading the abilities he did have until he could ascend and unlock another.

  When he selected the ability, the blue box before him suddenly went dark. Words appeared, white against the dark text box.

  Accessing the void can grow your void affinity. But be forewarned, one's affinity can mark the trajectory of their power. Do you wish to proceed?

  That was… odd. Dean selected the accept button and waited. When nothing happened, he stretched his back and rose to his feet, sore muscles twinging. While meditating did revitalize him, staying in that position for hours on end was no easy task for his body.

  “Alright,” he muttered, looking around the large state room. The upholstered bed was massive, but somehow in the grand room it looked small. There was a sitting room filled with furniture and tables, and a personal lavatory in the corner. Dean had been told there was running water through copper pipes, but he hadn’t bothered to check it himself.

  He looked around the room, eyes landing on a candlestick set in a holder on a nearby table. A worthy target. Concentrating inward, Dean reached for his essence and extended a hand, straightening his fingers into a knife. He thought of his ability, thought of what he wanted to do, and, without hesitation, slashed his hand through the air.

  Nothing happened. Dean dropped his hand to his side, feeling somewhat foolish. Maybe he was misunderstanding the ability. Perhaps he needed his sword too –

  A sudden flicker caught Dean’s attention. A single line of darkness appeared in the air above the table. It was half the size of his sword, dark and ominous. As if someone had cut a tear in the very fabric of reality. Then, without warning, the table snapped in two.

  Dean muttered a curse as all the books, candles, and inkwells that had been sitting on it crashed to the ground. Great. Now every guard within fifty feet would come running. Dean rushed to the mass and began picking up bits and pieces, but he froze when he saw it. The table had been sliced neatly in two. There were no jagged edges, no splinters or markings. One second the table had been whole, and the next…

  Dean slid a finger over the smooth edge of the wood, letting out a soft whistle. It was completely smooth...

  “Adventurer?”

  A heavy knock came at the door, and Dean glanced up guiltily.

  “Is everything alright, sir? Can I come in?”

  It was the servant from the night before, the woman who had shown him and Tasha to their quarters.

  “Uh,” said Dean, hastily scooping up books and placing them in a pile on the bed. “One moment, please. I’m not clothed.”

  He realized in a panic that it was partially true. In order to wash his clothing, he’d removed most of his under garments and hung them by the fire. Snatching up his trousers, he managed to pull them up and button them before flinging open the door.

  The maid stood in the doorway, a small silver tray clutched in her hand. On it was an array of fruits and pastries, all of which looked quite fresh.

  “Um,” said the maid, her eyes drifting down Dean’s bare torso and pausing a little too long on the V of his hips. Her cheeks went pink.

  “My apologies for disturbing you, Mr. Thomspon,” she said, proffering her plate. “I was assigned to bring you something to eat, and on my way up, I thought I heard some sort of commotion. Are you, I mean, if you’re busy with a woman, I can tell the other servants not to disturb… you…” Her voice faded awkwardly, and it was Dean’s turn to flush.

  “I… no, that won’t be necessary. It’s just me in here. I knocked something over earlier, that's all. I’m not used to a room having so many…. things.”

  A bit of a lame ending, but Dean felt like a man floundering as the maid stared at him.

  “Ah,” she said, relaxing slightly. “Of course, my mistake. Shall I send someone in to tidy for you?”

  “No need.”

  Dean took the proffered plate, giving her his best friendly smile.

  “I’ll just take this. Thank you for the food.”

  “The food is a gift from his lordship.”

  “I thought he didn’t like being called that.”

  The servant ignored him.

  “On the paper on the tray is a list of shop supplies, smiths, and the artificer you asked for. Should you require anything else, please let us know.”

  She curtseyed and gave Dean a last appreciative look before making her way back down the hall. Dean shut the door, shaking his head as he tossed the plate on the table he hadn’t yet broken.

  “Not used to a room having so many things. I’m a fucking idiot.”

  He strolled to where his sword was propped against the wall and threw himself on the bed, popping grapes into his mouth as he unfolded the paper. True to his word, the bailiff had provided him with a list of places he could gear up in Bridgeport. Listed were a blacksmith, a potion maker, and an artificer.

  Dean spun another grape in between his fingers, considering. He had a day to get everything he needed done, but that also gave him a little time to explore the city. He might not get a chance to do so while in the employ of the bailiff. Especially if the man was hellbent on throwing himself into a miniature war.

  I suppose you have to take the good things while they last, he thought, crossing one leg over another as he chewed another grape. The pillows beneath him really were quite soft. Maybe he could get used to this. Maybe.

  ***

  Dean had visited the blacksmith first, a muscular woman with red-brown eyes and a stern countenance. She’d taken one look at the state of his gear and tut-tut’ed. When she was done giving him a lecture on the proper care of Adventurer gear, she’d given him a quote for repairs and set about her work without delay.

  Dean had wandered into the potions shop to browse while the sound of her hammer rang through the city streets. 2 health potions, a stamina potion, and a potion of minor strength later, Dean had returned to find his repairs completed.

  “There you are,” said the smith gruffly, shoving his armor across the table at him with a bit more force than was warranted. “I worked out some of the dents and kinks, and redid one of the leather straps. You really ought to oil leather, especially when it’s in the rain for a prolonged period. I swear the buckle on the right arm was already starting to rust. What did you do, swim in the thing?”

  When Dean had declined, to answer the woman had thrown up her hands.

  “Young Adventurers,” she muttered. “A plague on us armorers. No respect for gear, none at all.”

  When Dean had picked up his bracers, a notification popped up.

  Common Bracers of Sundering have been improved.

  Common Bracers of Sundering (Upgraded): Provides +12 increase to all slashing and stabbing damage. + 19 armor

  “Thanks,” Dean had said, grinning as he hefted them. The smith had only rolled her eyes before snatching his coins from the counter and busying herself polishing armor pieces. Dean had thanked her again before putting on his gear, sighing when the familiar weight returned to him. His base stats were greatly improved.

  Name: Dean Thompson

  Age: 17

  Minor proficiencies: Swordsmanship

  Class: Adventurer (Way of the Sword)

  [INHERITED TRAIT:] Killing Intent 0/3

  Ability Slots available: 3/12

  BASE STATS:

  Strength: 47

  Agility: 44 (+5%)

  Power: 44

  Resilience: 40

  Current Armor: + 48

  Current Damage: + 29 (Two-handed class bonus +8)

  Dean’s strength stat was always consistently the highest. He knew that some sort of agility boost would also do him good in battle.

  But how do I boost my mobility? he mused as he turned down a side street. Several children played in a garden across the way, and when they saw him, their eyes widened. One of them mouthed something about a giant sword, pointing to his back. A little girl with short, bobbing curls waved at him, and Dean waved back. She laughed, and Dean smiled to himself, thinking it was the sweetest sound he’d heard in a while.

  He stopped before the artificer’s shop, squinting down at the scrawled handwriting on the scrap of paper he’d been given. This should be it. And yet… the narrow building and painted blue door seemed so unassuming. It looked like the downstairs of a regular apartment building. At least it was on the nice side of town. Dean approached the door with caution, double-checking the plaque by the door to be certain he’d got the address right. Then he raised his fist and knocked.

  He stood on the porch, hands tucked in his trouser pockets against the brisk autumn breeze blowing between the buildings. After a while, he knocked again. But there was still no answer.

  “Pardon me,” said a voice, and Dean looked around. The little girl was standing on the first step of the building, her small hands clenched in her dress. Dean smiled at her and knelt, resting his arms on his knees. “Um,” she said, biting her lip nervously. She glanced behind her, and Dean could see the other kids watching from behind a nearby pillar.

  “Did they put you up to this?” he asked, cocking his head at her. The little girl smiled and nodded, looking a little embarrassed.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  “They said I’d be too scared to ask you… to ask you a question.”

  Dean’s smile widened.

  “That shows what they know. How much did the promise you?”

  The girl glanced over her shoulder at the boys again and shrugged.

  “Half penny.”

  Dean reached into his inventory and grabbed a small coin from his pouch, which he tossed to her. It was a full penny, and when she saw it, her eyes widened.

  “If you don’t tell the others you might still get your half penny,” he said. “Go on and ask your question.”

  The girl pocketed the coin hastily and straightened, doing her best not to seem guilty. Which of course only made her look guiltier.

  “Are you really an Adventurer?” she asked, gesturing at the badge now pinned over the shoulder of his cloak.

  Dean nodded.

  “That’s right. I’m an Iron Ranker.”

  The girl’s eyes lit up excitedly and she licked her lips.

  “Can you do magic?”

  Dean glanced at the blue door and the dark windows within. Well, if the artificer wasn’t home, he might as well find something to do.

  “Alright,” he said, rising and tapping a finger to his chin in an exaggerated motion. “But only if you do something for me.”

  “What’s that?” said the girl suspiciously. Dean jerked a thumb to the blue door behind him.

  “Do you know who lives there?”

  She nodded.

  “Old Gus, he’s a dwarf. He’s nice enough, but he’s sort of hard of hearing. My Dad tried to chase him down one time when he left his coin purse on a restaurant table, and he followed him all the way back to the house before he heard.”

  “Ah,” said Dean, a smile touching at his lips.

  “So he doesn’t hear it if you knock on his door?”

  The girl shook her head.

  “Not when he’s asleep, and he’s napping right around now. He only complains about us playing when he’s awake.”

  Dean sighed. He could see the little eyes on him peaking out from behind the pillar and the side of a nearby house.

  “Alright,” he called. “A promise is a promise. You wanted to see a bit of magic, eh? Then pay attention.”

  By the time Old Gus had risen from his nap and unlocked the front door, Dean had managed to tire out most of the neighborhood kids. Which, as he was told by one amused mother who watched from her doorway, was an incredible feat in and of itself. At first they had just played tag, and Dean had used essence to enhance his speed and strength, moving faster, vaulting over low walls and fences, and otherwise using his advantage to catch everyone he could find.

  When they were tired of that, they took turns riding his back while he used his charge ability, blipping down the street at alarming speed. Several of the parents had come out to watch. First in alarm, then in genuine wonder as Dean dashed into a pile of leaves, scattering them everywhere and making the youngest laugh.

  “I want to be an Adventurer,” said the curly-haired girl firmly, as she took Dean’s hand. “I want to be fast like you and strong too. Then I can beat all the boys at tag.”

  “I don’t doubt you would,” said Dean solemnly. He came to a stop in the road when he saw the blue door open, a head sticking out. Old Gus was, true to his name, quite old. His long braided hair and beard were an iron-colored gray, and his eyes hung beneath heavy brows.

  When he saw Dean, he straightened.

  “You must be the Adventurer that the Rellar household told me was coming. I am Gus,” he said, bowing his head. “Artificer of the second degree. And you are?”

  “Dean Thompson?”

  “Right, well, Bean, that really is an unusual name, but who am I to judge.”

  “Uh, it’s Dean.”

  “Right, right,” said the man absently, shoving open the door. “Well, you best come inside, Bean. I’m happy to take a work order for you, but it might not be ready until evening if you don’t mind the wait.”

  “Can I come too?” asked the young girl excitedly. Old Gus gave her a sad look.

  “Last time you invited yourself in, Gabrielle, you set off a chemical chain reaction by touching two things I asked you not to. I’m sorry, dear girl, but I think it’s best we err on the side of caution.”

  She puffed out her lips in a frown, and Dean patted her curls.

  “I’ll come visit you another time,” he said. “For now I have Adventurer business. Very important stuff. But keep that a secret, alright?”

  He made a show of looking around before leaning forward to whisper.

  “Only you know about it.”

  Gabrielle’s face lit up, and she nodded, curls bouncing.

  “Alright,” she whispered back. “I can keep a secret, honest.”

  Somehow, Dean doubted his “secret” would last more than an hour in her hands, but his little ploy seemed to have worked. She skipped off in the direction of the other kids, and Dean waved a hand at some of the parents, who waved back. Then he turned for the shop. The inside was surprisingly dim and smelled faintly of oil and leather. Artifacts, gears, and odd machinery hung on the walls and in the corners, giving off an industrial impression. Artificers were some of the most renowned dwarven engineers in the Iron Hills themselves. They were masters at blending magic and crafting, a feat almost unique to them in comparison to the other races.

  “How long since you set up shop?” Dean asked, bending down to examine a set of clamps with glowing runes.

  “What?” asked the dwarf, squinting at him over a pair of old spectacles. Dean repeated the question, and the man chewed his lip.

  “Been almost twenty years now,” he said. “Bridgeport is a large enough city that I get good traffic hear, though it’s not nearly as lucrative as a trade hub like Haven or Magestere. But It’s quiet, relatively devoid of the type of political strife associated with the rest of the Numerian Empire. Or at least it was.”

  The man sighed, shaking his head and causing his beard beads to clack together.

  “But those are the times we live in, eh? Now, what was it that you wanted me to look at?”

  Dean pulled the sword from his back and set it down on the table before them with a heavy thud. The Artificer let out a sound of amazement as he moved to touch it.

  “May I?”

  When Dean nodded, the Artificer lifted the weapon, turning the blade and checking the angle and dimensions.

  “Heavier than it looks,” he grunted as he set it back down. “Quality work, if a bit juvenile. Did you have a rune or spell you wished to get imbued?”

  Dean opened his inventory, reaching for the sword. When he touched it, he felt a slight prickle on his palms. As if the metal was reacting to his touch. He felt within it a sense of longing… or hunger.

  “It’s here,” he said quickly, dropping the blade on the table beside his greatsword. The craftsmanship was fine, and the metal of the blade seemed to glow with a soft red sheen. Old Gus adjusted his spectacles, frowning as he leaned in. He muttered something under his breath in dwarvish that Dean didn’t catch before whipping out a pair of gloves.

  “One must take caution when handling items such as this,” he said, pulling the gloves up to mid-arm and testing the runes. “If this is what I think it is, then it’s best to limit contact if you’re anyone other than the handler.”

  Dean felt a little uneasy at the dwarf’s words, but the artificer didn’t seem deterred. On the contrary, he examined the sword with evident interest, tipping it this way and that. At one point, he produced a pair of what appeared to be small bronze mallets, which he used to gently tap the metal. Sparks of different colors and intensity were emitted, and Gus made a “hmm” sound at each one.

  “Yes,” he said at last, setting down his instruments and swinging his overhead lamp to the side. “It’s as I thought. The enchantment placed upon this blade is a rare thing. It’s called a living Relic, and it is as it sounds. The enchantment is, for lack of a better word, alive. Living Relics are quite powerful, as they have the ability to grow with the user's own power in a way that static enchants do not. But that can come at a price. One must feed a Relic. And what a Relic needs to consume depends upon the nature of the thing. In this case...”

  He met Dean’s gaze, and there was a sternness in his stare that hadn’t been there before.

  “It feeds on blood. The more you kill with this blade, the stronger it will become. But powerful Relics need powerful masters. I will not transfer this enchantment for you until I am sure you can handle it.”

  He set down his gloves and folded his muscular arms. Dean glanced down at the blade and swallowed.

  “Alright,” he said. “I understand. Ask me your questions, and I’ll do my best to answer.”

  The dwarf nodded.

  “Where did you come by this weapon?”

  “It was in the belly of a monster that tried its best to consume me. Its previous user was... less fortunate than I. But I assume he wouldn’t need it.”

  “Did you know its previous owner?”

  Dean shook his head.

  “Not as anything more than an unfortunate victim. He was an Adventurer, if that helps. I saw the rank badge on his chest.”

  The dwarf pulled at his beard.

  “So you didn’t steal it?”

  Dean laughed before realizing it was a genuine question.

  “No,” he said. “I won’t pretend to be some saint. With the way I grew up, stealing wasn’t uncommon. But I didn’t steal this sword or any of the gear I’m wearing. I earned it the hard way for better or for worse.” He smiled bitterly. “Some days I think I should have stuck to petty thievery.”

  The dwarf’s eyes softened, and he chuckled, dropping his arms.

  “Well, you’re honest,” he mused. “Perhaps to a fault. “Reminds me of my brother Baylin. He’s a first-degree artificer, and if you ever make your way to the great halls of the Iron Hills, be sure to tell him I sent you. Forgive my questioning, it’s only… Relics like these are often only carried by named Adventurers. I might be the first to ask, but chances are I won’t be the last.”

  “I see,” said Dean, rubbing at the back of his neck. “So, will you do it?”

  Gus sighed deeply.

  “I will. Partly because I want to see what comes of it, and partly because you’re… different than most Adventurers I’ve met. Had I not seen you spend so much time playing with the children I might have refused you. But a man with autumn leaves stuck in his hair isn’t the type I’d worry about going on a murder spree.”

  The dwarf turned away, gathering more tools from a nearby crate. Dean reached up, pulling a maple leaf from his hair.

  “I hadn’t made any plans for murder sprees, but I suppose there is still time.”

  “What?” asked Gus, rummaging in the crate.

  “Nothing,” said Dean, smiling.

  Gus told him to retrieve his blade in the evening, and Dean left the shop in high spirits. Without both of his swords, he felt a little naked, but he had his mother's knife at his belt and his new ability, should he need it. The sun was going down, and the streets of Bridgeport had come alive. People bustled about as the smell of cooking food from street carts drifted in.

  Dean’s stomach rumbled, and he realized he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. He was about to get in line for a leg of roast turkey when he saw something familiar in the crowd. Flowing dark hair and a flash of bright eyes. Dean turned, slipping through the crowd as he followed her. At last Tasha turned her head and caught sight of him, a beautiful smile spreading across her face.

  “There you are,” she said, halting and letting him catch up to her. “I thought I might not see you before you left. The servants said you’re in the employ of his lordship now.”

  Dean arched a brow.

  “Are you jealous?”

  “Jealous, me? Don’t be silly.”

  She moved forward, checking him with her hip playfully as she wound her way towards a stall. Dean followed. They were in a crowded square, and music drifted in from somewhere in the back. A fiddler was standing on a raised platform, his boot tapping to the music. He was a fast player, his music lively and quick in that way all southern tunes were.

  “It looks like a live show,” said Dean, tilting his head towards the platform. “Care to watch it with me?”

  “Are you asking me out?” she said, raising a brow. Dean pretended to examine the sky.

  “Well, I am asking you, and we are out. So yes.”

  She slapped at his chest with a hand, then held out a finger to him.

  “Wait here,” she said. “And don’t move. I have something I want to show you.”

  Dean waited, his hands in his trouser pockets as the crowd flowed around him. Most gave him a wide birth, likely on account of the badge on his chest. But a few gave him friendly smiles and nods.

  They must not be used to having an Adventurer in their midst. It’s not like Shawn Rellar would slum it with the people, I suppose.

  Though Dean had to admit the wide, white-bricked market square was one of the nicest he’d seen. Bridgeport really was a beautiful city.

  “Ah, so you can do what you’re told,” teased Tasha as she returned to him. She had a small wooden plate in her hand, and on it was what appeared to be a steaming pile of dough. It was crispy on the outside, a soft golden brown. And there was a light dusting of something on top.

  “Finely ground sugar,” she said when she saw him looking. “These are southern fritters. It’s a sweet street food, and in my opinion, one of the best things around. Though we’ll need to sit to eat it.”

  The smell of the dough made Dean’s stomach growl again, and he stuck out an arm to her. Tasha’s warm hand cupped the inside of his elbow as he led them through the crowd. There was a bench open near the side of the square with a clear view of the platform and crowd gathered. Dean swept his cloak aside and sat, and Tasha sat next to him, setting the platter between them. She produced two small jars, one of which smelled faintly of fruit.

  “This is a triberry syrup,” she said, setting the purple one down before him. “Strawberries, blueberries, and huckleberries, which are simmered and reduced down. It’s quite good, but it can be a bit tart depending on the rendering. And this…” She uncorked the other jar of deep brown liquid. “Is chocolate. It’s sweet with a little coffee powder mixed in to bring out its flavor. I think you’ll find both are a pleasant mix when paired with fritter dough.”

  Dean raised a brow.

  “You’re quite the expert.”

  Tasha laughed.

  “Well, when you’re an innkeeper’s daughter, it’s one of the skills you pick up. Well, go on. Try it. See if it doesn’t blow your mind.”

  Dean reached for the dough, tearing off a bit and dipping it in the triberry syrup. The burst of flavor was a pleasant mix of fried and sweet. The fritter itself was crunchy on the outside, but the warm dough within was soft and flavorful. Dean smiled, nodded in exaggerated fashion as he swallowed.

  “Alright, I’ll admit it. That’s really good.”

  “Yeah? You’re not just saying that?”

  Dean shook his head, licking the syrup off his fingers.

  “No, that’s probably one of the best things I’ve ever tasted.” He tried the chocolate next and groaned appreciatively when it hit his taste buds.

  The two of them shared the food as the fiddler and his crew danced about the stage, the music rising to a crescendo. At some point, Tasha had moved close to him, the warmth of her evident at his side. She whipped her hair over one shoulder, and Dean’s heart rate accelerated as she rested her head on his shoulder.

  Relax, you bloody fool, he thought even as a smile tugged at his lips. It had been a long time since he’d felt the pull of simple attraction. Since he’d felt safe enough to allow himself to. After a moment he snaked his hand around her waist, tucking her against him. She sighed softly, closing her eyes and turning her face into his shoulder.

  “You smell like oiled leather,” she said, her eyes still closed.

  “Is it unpleasant?”

  She smiled.

  “No.”

  They remained that way for a while, enjoying the show as it wound down. When the music ended and the square began to empty, they stayed a while, talking as the moon rose. Tasha spoke of her father’s Adventurers from his time as a mercenary. Of the places she remembered traveling as a girl before he’d quit to open his inn. For the first time in years Dean spoke about his family. He talked about his mother, about how she used to teach him little things. How to use sleight-of-hand to fool a traveler, or how to hide a weapon in your sleeve. She was an odd woman, at least most would think so. A thief, certainly, but she had been a great parent. Always looking after them, working hard so they had everything they needed.

  “It must have been hard,” Tasha whispered against him. “To be without her after all that time. For what it’s worth… I’m sorry.”

  He nodded, throat bobbing as he stared up at the full moon.

  “It wasn’t easy. But it was harder on my sister than me. She’s the one who really took over the brunt of the responsibilities. I was too young to understand it.”

  “She sounds like a good person.”

  Dean smiled.

  “She is.”

  Tasha pressed her lips to his neck and withdrew, her smile fading.

  “Elise is, too. She’s a sweetheart, you know? The type of person who would stick by you through anything. She was always the sister who took the blame when I got into trouble. It should have been me… I was the eldest. But Elise was always too... empathetic.”

  “Have you tried to visit her?” he asked, turning to look at her. Tasha sighed and dropped her head. “I haven’t. I don’t trust that man, Dean. And I feel like I need to see her for myself. To talk to her. But at the same time…”

  “You’re worried you’ll upset her?”

  She glanced up at him and nodded.

  “I don’t know what to do,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t want to crowd her, but at the same time not knowing she’s alright…” She rubbed at her eyes. “What would you do?”

  Dean considered it a moment, looking down at his hands. He’d had a lot of time to think of how he would have handled things differently with his sister. Hindsight was always so clear, but after he’d lost her, Dean had been hounded by the guilt that came from leaving things undone. He knew he didn’t want her to feel the same.

  He turned, lifting a hand to cup the back of her neck and draw her head towards him. His lips pressed into her forehead, and she closed her eyes as she leaned against him.

  “Talk to her,” he said. “Apologize. It doesn’t matter if you weren’t the only one in the wrong. Apologize to her and tell her the truth. That you miss her, and you can’t stand it when the two of you are at odds. If she feels the same, she’ll tell you.”

  Tasha smiled, her hand enveloping his as she turned her face, kissing his palm.

  “Men are so straightforward,” she said. “It’s as alarming as it is refreshing. But thank you, I think I needed the pep talk.”

  “Oh,” said Dean, his smile fading. “Did you think it was free? I charge a silver an hour for pep talks.”

  She nearly shoved him off the bench.

  “You’re terrible,” she muttered, but had to turn away to hide her smile. Dean walked her back to the wrought iron gate of the Rellar estate before going to collect his sword. Gus’s door was open when he knocked, and the artificer ushered him inside. He was still wearing a pair of strange, dark glass goggles that made him look somewhat like a bug.

  “Here we are,” he said, shoving the goggles up his face and gesturing towards the blade. Dean stepped forward to examine it. The sword looked much the same, except for a few minor modifications. The hilt was bronze-coated, lined with small runes that seemed to pulse with soft blue light. The steel of the blade itself had been tinted with a slight reddish hue, and on the center near the pommel was a large, scrawling rune. The rune was dark, but as Dean reached for it, he saw the magic within flare. All at once, the sword pulsed like a heartbeat.

  Vampiric Greatsword: + 7 ongoing bleeding damage to all live enemies. + 23 damage when slashing. When this blade is blooded, it has a chance to further bleed its enemies by 5%. This effect can be stacked once.

  Dean raised his eyebrows as he lifted the sword. He could feel the enchantment within it even before the rune glowed. It was a powerful weapon, and if it held the ability to scale with him, then it might be exactly the tool he needed.

  “Thank you,” he said, pulling out the gold coin and six silver coins he was due. The dwarf nodded once, taking the coins and stowing them in his inventory.

  “Be careful,” he warned as his eyes fell on the sword at Dean’s back. “That blade is powerful, but the Relic within it is more alive than any I’ve seen. Be sure that you control it, and not it you.”

  And then he was gone, disappearing into the back room of his workshop and leaving Dean standing there in the dark.