"Of course." Zara snapped the watch closed with a flick of her wrist and returned it to her pocket. "How could I possibly forget how long it's been since I've seen my favorite mage?"
Adom laughed, careful not to ask anything about where she'd been in front of Emma.
"When did you come back to Arkhos?" Adom asked.
"Yesterday," Zara replied, moving from the doorway to perch on the edge of the counter. "Mr. Biggins needed an extra pair of hands, and Emma here can't be expected to manage everything alone."
Emma nodded seriously. "She's going to help with the new shipment that came in yesterday. There's some weird stuff even by our standards."
"It's just a temporary arrangement," Zara added, her eyes meeting Adom's meaningfully. "While I figure out my next... step."
She hopped off the counter and approached Adom, linking her arm through his. "How about you come with me and we catch up properly? I've missed you dearly."
"Sure," Adom agreed, letting her lead him toward the back room.
"Don't break anything expensive!" Emma called after them. "And don't touch the blue jar on the second shelf, Mr. Biggins says it might be containing a sort of entity!"
"We'll be careful," Zara promised with a wink, guiding Adom into the back room and closing the door behind them.
Adom frowned slightly. What exactly would she do? The guild politics were already complicated enough without adding someone new to the mix—especially someone with connections to a secret organization. Still, if she had resources or contacts he didn't...
Zara seemed to read his hesitation. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "Why don't you tell me where things are at right now, first?"
"Alright." Adom collected his thoughts. "A week ago, we started mass producing the product we'll soon be introducing to the market—communication crystals. They're more reliable than message birds, faster than couriers, and don't require the specialized training of telepathic mages."
"Smart," Zara nodded. "High demand, virtually untapped market."
"The next step is securing an imperial contract. That would give us credibility, steady revenue, and most importantly—leverage. Once the imperial messengers are using our crystals, other merchants will follow."
"And the seat in the House of Merchants?"
Adom's eyes narrowed. "Biggins told you everything, didn't he?"
"Enough," Zara admitted. "I know you're targeting the Crimson Scale's seat."
"They tried to kill me," Adom said flatly.
"Hmm hmm. And you only have about a month before the new seats are announced," Zara added. "Not much time to establish market dominance over a guild that's held a seat for decades."
Adom smiled thinly. "That's why I'm not trying to outperform them—I'm trying to make them self-destruct."
He stood up and began pacing, the action helping him better structure his ideas. "The Crimson Scale specializes in luxury fabrics and dyes. Their main income is from the crimson dye they import from the Southern Isles. It's difficult to transport, sensitive to light and moisture, and extremely expensive."
"So?"
"So I'm going to crash their market."
He expected Zara to have a sort of reaction. And she did. But he was expecting surprise, or shock. Not the wide, vicious smile she was currently sporting while waiting for him to continue.
"I've already started importing a synthetic dye from the Eastern territories." Adom resumed, after clearing his throat. "It's more vibrant, more stable, and costs a third of what they charge. I'm selling it at half their price, which still nets me a profit while undercutting them severely."
"My spies did their research," he added. "The Crimson Scale never adopted synthetic dyes because they built their entire reputation on 'authentic' Southern Isles crimson. Plus, they've spent years establishing their supply routes and bribing the right officials. They're too invested in their current model to pivot, even though the technology exists."
Zara whistled. "They won't take that lying down."
"I'm counting on it," Adom replied. "My goal isn't to compete with them—it's to provoke them into making more mistakes. The attack on me was their first, but the House of Merchants doesn't know about that yet. I need more evidence, more incidents that prove they're unworthy of holding a seat."
"Because simply having a better product won't be enough in just a month," Zara concluded.
"Right. The House is conservative. They don't care if I can make better fabric dye—they care about stability, connections, and legacy. The Crimson Scale has all three."
"So what kind of mistakes are you hoping they'll make?"
Adom leaned against a shelf. "Public ones. The kind that violate the Merchant's Code. Price fixing, sabotage, threats, anything that would get them banned from the House."
"And what's your next move to provoke them?"
"I've arranged for several major fashion houses to receive free samples of our dye," Adom explained. "Including the Imperial Seamstress. The ember festival is coming up, and if the nobles start wearing our crimson instead of theirs..."
"Their quarterly profits will tank," Zara finished.
"Exactly. I need them to panic and make a public move against me—something witnessed by neutral parties that can't be denied."
Zara tapped her fingers thoughtfully against the crate. "What if we don't wait for them to make a mistake? What if we create a situation where they have no choice but to reveal themselves?"
"I'm listening."
"You've been focusing on their product, but what about their shipping? The dye has to travel by sea, right? What if there was a major disruption at the ports? Something that forced them to take desperate measures to protect their incoming shipments?"
Adom's eyes lit up. "If they thought their next shipment was threatened..."
"They might resort to hiring mercenaries, bribing officials, or worse," Zara continued. "All violations of the Merchant's Code if done publicly."
"And I happen to know they have a major shipment arriving next week thanks to my spies," Adom added. "The largest of the season, because of the festival demand."
"So," Zara said, straightening her posture. "Shall we plan a little port disruption?"
*****
The meeting chamber of the Crimson Scale headquarters felt stifling as Tresh Mavarin paced before the assembled guild officers. Her normally composed demeanor had given way to barely contained fury.
"Incompetent fools," she snapped, glaring at Deroq who had coordinated the "warning" operation. "We wanted to send a message, not create a blood feud. Those idiots were supposed to damage an empty warehouse, not attack people inside it!"
Captain Elrik of the City Guard sat uncomfortably in the seat reserved for guests, his weathered face impassive beneath his silver-trimmed helmet.
"My men released your two... associates... this morning," Elrik said, his tone professionally neutral. "As you requested, there was no official record linking them to the Crimson Scale."
"How fortunate," Tresh replied icily.
"However," Elrik continued, unperturbed, "the other two told us there was a third man involved. A young man."
Velth, the security advisor, leaned forward. "Rennik. Where is he?"
Elrik's expression remained carefully blank. "Missing. The two we apprehended were quite... vocal about what happened. They claim they were subdued by the young man at the warehouse—the Sylla boy himself."
A tense silence fell over the room.
"Subdued how?" Joren asked nervously, adjusting his spectacles.
"They were somewhat incoherent on that point," Elrik admitted. "One claimed the boy moved 'faster than sight.' The other mentioned some kind of blue light and being thrown without being touched." He shrugged slightly. "They also said Rennik was injured—bleeding—when they last saw him."
Tresh exchanged a glance with Velth. "And there's been no sign of him since?"
"None," Elrik confirmed. "Though we did find blood at the scene that matched neither the two we apprehended nor the warehouse occupants."
"I see." Tresh resumed her pacing. "Thank you, Captain. Your assistance is, as always, appreciated."
Elrik stood, adjusting his uniform. "Guildmaster Mavarin, a word of caution. There are limits to what even I can overlook. The House of Merchant's Code—"
"—is very clear about inter-guild conflicts, yes," Tresh finished for him. "Rest assured, this unfortunate incident was the result of overzealous contractors misinterpreting instructions. It won't happen again."
After Elrik departed, the tension in the room only increased.
"Five days," Maela said, breaking the silence. "Five days without retaliation. Without even a complaint filed with the House of Merchant's Commission. What are they waiting for?"
"They're planning something," Velth replied grimly. "The Wangara might be new, but they have powerful connections."
Deroq cleared his throat nervously. "Perhaps we should take more direct action. Secure the Sylla boy. Use him as leverage to—"
"Are you completely out of your mind?" Tresh whirled on him, eyes flashing. "Have you not seen what Commander Sylla did to the last people who threatened his son? Do you want us all dead?"
Deroq paled. "I merely suggested—"
"You suggested suicide," Tresh cut him off. "No. We need to think clearly. Put ourselves in their position. What would they do if they were us?"
She moved to the map of the city hanging on the wall, fingers tracing the trade routes that had built their fortune.
"If I were them, what would my next move be?" she mused aloud. "New guild. Powerful connections. Just suffered an unprovoked attack." Her finger stopped at the harbor. "I'd strike where it hurts most."
"The shipment," Velth said immediately.
"Exactly." Tresh nodded. "Our quarterly delivery from the Southern Isles arrives in three days. Without that crimson dye, we cannot fulfill our contracts. Our entire operation would grind to a halt."
"We've already doubled security at the docks," Joren pointed out.
"Triple it," Tresh ordered. "And spread gold among the harbor officials. I want to know if anyone connected to the Wangara so much as approaches those docks."
"You really think they have resources for that kind of operation? The shipment should not even be publicly known." Maela asked skeptically. "They're newly established. How many agents could they possibly—"
A soft knock at the door interrupted her. One of the guards entered, looking uncomfortable.
"Guildmaster, he's here again," the guard said, his voice low.
Tresh's expression soured. "Send him in."
The man who shuffled into the room bore little resemblance to the once-proud right hand of Cisco, the information broker. Marco's clothes were clean but worn, his once-sharp features now gaunt, his eyes darting nervously around the room as if expecting an attack from any corner.
"You summoned me, Guildmaster?" he asked.
Several of the guild officers didn't bother to hide their contempt. Marco was now little more than a fugitive living on borrowed time.
"What news do you have of the Wangara?" Tresh asked directly.
Marco's eyes flickered to the others in the room before settling back on Tresh. "There's been no movement from them as of yet. The Sylla boy seems to be staying at the academy, attending classes as normal. Nothing outwardly suspicious."
"Nothing?" Velth asked, clearly skeptical. "After what happened at their warehouse?"
Marco shook his head. "That's what makes it concerning. This boy—he doesn't think like you expect."
"And you know him so well?" Joren asked derisively.
Marco's face darkened momentarily. "I underestimated him once. I watched Cisco side with this... this child, at the risk of everything we had built. I thought Cisco had lost his mind. I was wrong."
The room fell silent at this admission. Marco rarely spoke of his betrayal of Cisco—a move that had left him hunted by both the authorities and the underworld alike.
"What do you mean, he doesn't think like we expect?" Tresh pressed.
"He sees patterns where others see only chaos," Marco explained. "Don't make the mistake of seeing him as just a boy hiding behind his father's name."
"His father is Commander Arthur Sylla," Deroq said, as if explaining something obvious. "That alone—"
"His father's name opens doors," Marco interrupted, "but it's not what makes him dangerous. The Commander isn't behind this guild—the boy is. Everything about the Wangara bears his mark, not his father's. Believe me."
Tresh studied Marco thoughtfully. She had offered him sanctuary, not out of kindness but practicality. A man with his knowledge of the underworld was useful, especially one desperate enough to serve loyally in exchange for protection.
"What would you suggest then?" she asked.
Marco moved closer to the map, his finger tracing the route from the academy to the merchant district. "Don't think like merchants. Think like him. He won't just target your shipment—he'll want to undermine your entire operation. Your reputation. Your standing."
"Our seat in the House," Tresh concluded.
"Exactly." Marco nodded. "The dye shipment is important, yes. But it's just one piece of a larger strategy. Protect it, certainly, but don't focus all your attention there."
"Where else would you suggest?" Velth asked skeptically.
Marco hesitated. "Your clients. Your distributors. Every point in your supply chain is vulnerable. And the boy knows it."
"You seem certain of his capabilities," Joren observed. "Yet last time you faced him, you failed rather spectacularly."
Marco's face hardened. "Mock me if you wish. But remember this—I'm still alive, while many who stood against the Sylla boy are not. Dismiss my warnings at your peril."
Tresh raised a hand to silence the growing murmurs. "Enough. Marco, continue monitoring the Wangara Guild. I want daily reports. And find out what happened to Rennik."
After Marco had been dismissed—with visible relief on his part—Tresh turned back to her officers.
"I don't trust him," Velth said immediately.
"Nor should you," Tresh agreed. "But we'd be fools to ignore his warnings completely. The Sylla boy may indeed be more than he appears."
She moved back to the head of the table, her decision made. "Secure the warehouse. Triple the guards on the shipment. And spread word among our distributors to be vigilant. If the Wangara want war, we'll be ready."