“Do dragons have a way to hide your rank?”
Rhine stood on the dockward waterfront, staring past the guarded shoreline toward Lighthouse Island. The Sorrow Theater loomed beyond the boats, seven stories tall, first floor still glowing like a lie.
Thea—still in her black-cat form—was draped over his forearm, watching his face from below with bright gold eyes.
“Why?” she asked through the bond, though she already knew.
Seven floors.
And if clearing each floor truly granted one Seat of power… neither of them could afford to stop at one.
But climbing too fast inside Windrest City was a different kind of danger.
At equal rank, you could miss another person’s strength if they were careful. But a monster like Panglos Fell—Tier 4, Ninth Seat—could read the supernatural pressure off someone’s skin the way a sailor read weather.
And there was another shadow in this city.
The Soul-Eater wasn’t just hiding. He had apprentices. Rhine had fought them once already. According to Morningstar the wood-elf, their master had touched taboo arts that didn’t forgive mistakes.
If Rhine suddenly surged in rank without a veil?
Someone would notice.
Thea’s tail flicked. “For me? Easy. I’m born supernatural. If I want to hide my aura, only my own kind—or a demigod—will spot it. That’s why I can wander around like this and no one realizes what I am.”
Her gaze slid to Rhine. “For you… there’s a potion.”
Rhine waited.
Thea’s expression turned solemn—then mischievous. “You drink it once, your rank goes dark for an hour. Then you drink it again. And again. It works.”
“And the catch?”
“The taste,” Thea said sweetly, “is like rancid dishwater… with a little something extra. People say if you keep drinking it, you might lose your sense of taste entirely.”
Rhine coughed once. “Hard pass.”
He raked fingers through his hair. A single strand fell free.
Thea’s eyes followed it.
Rhine glanced at the strand on his fingertip with mild resignation. “I’ve got my own method.”
Thea didn’t press. If Rhine said he had an answer, he usually did.
She shifted back to her earlier worry instead. “The invitations are gone. What now?”
Last night, when they woke from the theater’s first performance, the invitation card in Rhine’s hand had ignited without flame. Hers had done the same. Ash on the air, and then nothing.
At first, Thea had been thrilled. No more cursed paper. No more being “invited.”
Now?
Now she wanted it back.
Rhine’s mouth curled. “You said Violet Eye brought ancient records from Skyborne Island.”
“They did,” Thea replied, wary. “Why?”
“Because most problems can be solved with the right book.”
Thea’s fur prickled. “Don’t tell me you’re thinking about robbing them.”
Rhine stared at her. “What do you take me for?”
Thea just looked at him.
Rhine sighed through his nose. “I’m not killing anyone for parchment.”
Thea remained unconvinced. Rhine had done worse for less.
Still, she pressed the practical point. “Even if you don’t rob them, why would they show you? Those records are their treasure.”
Rhine’s hand brushed the small braided knot in his pocket—a blessing cord Huang Yanyan had given him.
He smiled like he was half-joking. “Maybe I’ll get lucky.”
*
In a toilet stall inside Windrest Keep’s Scholars’ Tower, Qi Heng wrote like his life depended on it.
“Information cutoff: August 16th, 4:00 PM,” he scribbled.
He used paper and a pen from his old world because the tools here were awful. Then he summarized, fast and clean:
– The Sorrow Theater has manifested (tower structure, seven floors).
– Violet Eye has attempted entry by multiple methods and failed.
– Roughly one hour after manifestation, the first-floor lights turned on.
– Violet Eye suspects “lit floor = cleared floor,” but this is unconfirmed.
– Skyborne Island archives contain relevant records, written in Old Troll script.
– Current bottleneck: no one can translate Old Troll well enough.
– The invitation items tied to entry remain poorly understood.
He ended with a warning:
If someone truly cleared the first floor that fast, a powerful unknown presence was already in Windrest City.
Qi Heng sent the report through the Firemark Orb, then flushed his stall-time alibi and returned to his mentor with a straight face.
Inside Violet Eye’s camp, the mood was grim.
And Qi Heng had a new problem.
He’d used “diarrhea” as an excuse too many times. One more, and Mentor Orton might force him to drink Bonnie’s “medicine.”
Bonnie was kind.
Her potions were not.
He rounded a corridor and nearly collided with her massive shadow.
“Perry!” Bonnie boomed, cheerful and terrifying. “You’re back! Feeling better? Want some of my tonic?”
Qi Heng nearly aged ten years. “No. Nope. I’m cured. Miraculously cured.”
Bonnie shrugged like a saint denied her charity. “Fine, fine.”
She leaned closer. “Oh—good news. Mentor found a scholar who studies trolls. He might understand Old Troll.”
Qi Heng’s heart kicked.
“Who?”
“Rhine,” Bonnie said. “Lives in Windrest Keep. I heard half the Scholars’ Tower books are his.”
Rhine.
Qi Heng’s memory snapped into place—Red Falcon’s private mentions, the rumors in the capital, the title.
He kept his voice casual with sheer force of training. “Is he… the Free Man of the Sea Throne?”
Bonnie nodded. “That’s what they say.”
Qi Heng’s mind raced.
If he could befriend Rhine, that could open doors—Old Troll records now, and maybe the deeper mess around Faranil later.
“Where is he?” Qi Heng asked.
“Hunting,” Bonnie said. “But he’s back today. Mentor wants us to meet him.”
Qi Heng exhaled. “Great. Perfect.”
He realized something and winced. “Wait… Mentor told you to find me in the toilet?”
Bonnie blinked. “You were in the toilet. So yes.”
Qi Heng stared at the floor.
Somehow, he was the only sane person in this entire chain of command.
*
By late afternoon, Rhine was walking back through Windrest Keep with a black cat in his arms when Violet Eye finally caught up to him.
Mentor Orton—Tier 4 Weavecaster, thinning hair, tired eyes—spoke with the careful politeness of someone begging for a miracle.
“Old Troll,” Rhine repeated after hearing the request.
“I won’t pretend I can read every character,” Rhine said mildly. “Old Troll texts are rare. I may only recognize a portion.”
Orton nodded so hard it was almost painful. “Of course. Of course. Anything you can offer would be invaluable.”
He hesitated, then asked the real question.
“Would you be willing to look at the Skyborne Island records we brought?”
Thea lifted her head, smug despite herself.
Through the bond, she purred, “So this is your ‘luck,’ huh?”
Rhine didn’t answer aloud. He simply pressed a palm gently on the top of her head—an absent-minded, silencing pat.
He smiled at Orton. “I’d be honored.”