"...What?"
The single word hung in the air like a suspended blade. Marco stared at Tresh, his face frozen somewhere between disbelief and fury.
Tresh Mavarin, Guildmaster of the Crimson Scale for nearly five decades, sat behind her mahogany desk with perfect posture. Her silver-streaked hair was pulled back in its customary severe bun, not a strand out of place despite the chaos of the past week.
"I said," she repeated with deliberate clarity, "I am stepping down as Guildmaster. The Crimson Scale Guild will cease operations by the end of the month."
The silence that followed her second declaration was even heavier than the first. Around the room, guild officers and senior staff exchanged glances, some resigned, others alarmed. None looked particularly surprised. They'd all seen this coming after the auction disaster.
Marco stepped forward, his hands clenched at his sides. "You can't be serious."
"I assure you, I am entirely serious." Tresh's voice remained level, almost bored. "The decision has been made. I've already begun the paperwork for the dissolution."
"After one setback? After one public embarrassment?" Marco's voice rose. "Guilds weather these storms. They rebuild."
Tresh's eyes sharpened. "One setback? Our warehouse burned to the ground. Our dye stocks are gone. Our seat in the House of Merchants is as good as lost. Deroq attempted murder in front of the Imperial Inspector and the Archmage." She ticked off each disaster on her fingers with clinical detachment. "This isn't a storm, Marco. It's an extinction event."
"So you're just giving up?" Marco looked around the room, seeking allies. "After so many years, you're walking away at the first real challenge?"
"The first?" Tresh actually laughed, a sound so rarely heard that several staff members flinched. "I built the Crimson Scale from nothing. We rose to the tenth seat at our peak. We've been declining for years - down to thirteenth, then twenty-sixth, now fiftieth. The last seat." She shook her head. "This decline began long before anyone had heard of Wangara Guild."
She stood, smoothing her crimson robes. "I'm eighty-nine years old, Marco. I've spent nearly three-quarters of my life guiding this guild. I built it, sustained it, and now I will end it with dignity rather than watch it collapse in disgrace."
Most of the guild officers nodded in somber agreement. This wasn't impulsive—Tresh Mavarin didn't do impulsive. This was the calculated decision of a merchant who knew when to liquidate a failing investment.
But Marco wasn't ready to accept it. He moved closer to her desk, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper.
"You promised me protection. You gave me your word."
"And I've kept it," Tresh replied evenly. "For months, I've sheltered you. Fed you. Kept you safe from both the Guard and your former associates."
"Until it became inconvenient."
Tresh's eyes narrowed. "Until it became impossible. The terms of our arrangement were clear from the beginning. I would protect you so long as the guild remained viable. It no longer is."
Marco's face darkened. "You took me in when no one else would. I've given you information, contacts, access to networks you'd never have found on your own."
"Yes," Tresh agreed. "And I paid you well for those services. Our arrangement was mutually beneficial, but it was never intended to be permanent."
"So what am I supposed to do now?" Marco's voice had an edge of desperation that made the guards at the door shift uneasily. "Walk out those doors and wait for the knives to find me?"
"That's hardly my concern." Tresh gathered several documents from her desk, tucking them into a portfolio. "Though I would suggest leaving Arkhos entirely. The Eastern Provinces are quite pleasant this time of year."
Marco's hand shot out, gripping her wrist. The room froze.
In an instant, the two guards were there, blades drawn and pressed against Marco's throat and back. No one breathed.
"Remove your hand," Tresh said quietly, her gaze locked with his.
For a moment, it seemed Marco might actually tighten his grip—might force the guards' hands. Then, slowly, he released her.
The guards didn't back away.
"I gave you everything," Marco said, his voice now eerily calm. "Every secret. Every connection I had left. And this is how you repay loyalty?"
Tresh massaged her wrist lightly. "Loyalty? Is that what you call it?" She shook her head. "You came to me because you had nowhere else to go. Because everyone else wanted you dead. Let's not pretend this was anything more than a business arrangement."
"A business arrangement," Marco repeated. "Like the one Cisco had with the Sylla boy?"
At this, Tresh's expression hardened. "Guards, escort Mr. Marco out."
"Wait," Marco said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "Just... wait." He looked around the room, addressing the assembled staff. "The Crimson Scale doesn't have to end. Not like this. Not because one old woman has lost her nerve."
"Marco," Tresh warned.
He ignored her. "We still have assets. Connections. Knowledge. We can rebuild from this. Better than before."
A few of the younger staff members exchanged uncertain glances. Doubt flickered across faces that moments before had been resigned.
"We don't need the old ways," Marco continued, sensing the shift. "The Wangara Guild has shown us that. New methods. New markets. We adapt."
"Enough," Tresh snapped, her composure finally cracking. "You have no authority here. This guild was built by my hands, and it will end by my decision."
"A decision born of fear," Marco countered. "Not wisdom."
"Guards," Tresh repeated, "remove him from the premises."
The guards moved forward, but to everyone's surprise, three junior staff members stepped between them and Marco.
"Wait," said one, a young woman named Nerissa. "I want to hear what he has to say."
The room fell into a charged silence, dividing itself before Tresh's eyes. Most still stood with her, but the fact that anyone had moved to Marco's side was shocking enough.
Tresh studied the dissenters with cold eyes. "So be it," she said finally. "Those who wish to follow Marco's... vision... are free to do so. Outside these walls."
She turned back to Marco. "You have until tomorrow to vacate the guild premises. All of you. After that, the Guard will remove you by force."
"You're making a mistake," Marco said quietly.
"No," Tresh replied with absolute certainty. "I've made many in my life, but this isn't one of them." She straightened to her full height, somehow seeming taller than her modest stature. "And Marco? Never threaten me again. Not with words, not with gestures, not with implications. The only reason you're still breathing is because I choose to be merciful. That mercy has limits."
She gathered her portfolio and moved toward the door, signaling her loyal staff to follow. Most did, filing out with varying degrees of reluctance and concern.
"This isn't over, Tresh," Marco called after her.
She paused at the threshold, not bothering to turn around. "For me, it is. Whatever you do next—whatever violence you're planning—do me the courtesy of not associating it with the Crimson Scale name."
And then she was gone, her footsteps echoing down the corridor, each one more distant than the last.
Marco stood in the suddenly vast chamber, looking at the three who had remained: Nerissa, a young account manager; Voss, a security officer who had always been too eager with his blade; and Krant, a distribution coordinator with gambling debts he thought no one knew about.
"So," he said, his voice dropping to a silky register as he moved to sit in Tresh's abandoned chair. "Let's talk about what happens next."
*****
"This is a refined version, Valiant," Adom explained patiently. "The energy doesn't need to transfer directly from me to you. The circle acts as a conduit. The beetle is the source, you're the recipient, and the transmutation circle is the bridge between you."
The beetle dipped its mandibles into the solution, drinking it slowly.
"Stay immobile," Adom instructed, positioning Valiant more precisely in his circle. "You wanted this. You begged for it, remember? For days. Nonstop. Every conversation somehow turning into 'When are you giving me electrical powers, Adom?'"
Valiant's whiskers twitched nervously as he watched the beetle finish the solution. "Yes, but now I'm thinking maybe we should, I don't know, double-check some things? Like, does it have to be a beetle? Could we use something fluffier? Less bitey?"
Adom knelt at the edge of the circle, placing his palms together. A smile spread across his face—not his usual thoughtful expression, but something more... amused.
"You know," he said conversationally, as the runes began to glow brighter, "you've been incredibly annoying this past week. Constantly pestering me about this procedure."
"Um..." Valiant's ears flattened against his head. "I wouldn't say 'annoying,' exactly. Enthusiastic, maybe—"
"And I've been quite curious about how this new method would work," Adom continued, ignoring the interruption. "So really, I should be thanking you for volunteering."
The chalk lines flared suddenly, shifting from blue to a vibrant purple.
"Volunteering?" Valiant squeaked, trying to back out of his circle but finding his feet wouldn't move. "Adom, you're freaking me out a little here."
"Too late," Adom said, his smile widening as he pressed his palms to the edge of the circle.
"Adom. I'm just a mouse. You wouldn't do experiments on a mou-"
"Sssshh. It's starting."
The entire room seemed to darken as the circle blazed brighter. The beetle began to vibrate, its carapace glowing with accumulated energy. Across the circle, Valiant probably felt a similar vibration begin in his paws and spread upward through his body.
Thin tendrils of light stretched from the beetle toward Valiant, crossing the intricate pattern of runes. Where they crossed specific symbols, they changed color or split into multiple strands.
And then Valiant started to laugh.
Not a nervous chuckle or a forced laugh, but deep, uncontrollable laughter that shook his entire tiny frame. His body twitched and jerked as the energy flowed through him.
"It—it—it tickles!" he managed between gasps of laughter. "Stop! Stop! It tickles all over!"
Adom's brow furrowed in confusion. "Tickles?" he muttered to himself. "That's unexpected."
The energy flow intensified.
The beetle was now hovering several inches above its circle, suspended by the power of the transmutation. Valiant's fur stood on end, each individual hair surrounded by a faint electrical aura.
"Please!" Valiant gasped, tears streaming from his eyes as he laughed. "Can't—breathe—too much—tickling!"
"Interesting," Adom murmured, making a mental note. "The transmutation should be causing significant pain, but it's manifesting as an intense tickling sensation instead. Perhaps the smaller physiology of a mouse alters the nervous system's response to the energy transfer?"
The light grew blindingly bright, forcing Adom to shield his eyes. The room filled with the smell of ozone and something else—something wild and electric, like the air before a lightning storm.
Valiant was no longer laughing. He hung suspended in the air, his body rigid, surrounded by a cocoon of crackling blue-white energy. His eyes were wide open but unseeing, reflecting the power that coursed through him.
The beetle on the opposite side of the circle had gone completely still, its color fading from vibrant blue-green to a dull gray.
"Almost there," Adom whispered, maintaining his position despite the growing pressure in the room. The air itself felt heavy.
With a final surge, the light collapsed inward, converging on Valiant's suspended form. For one breathless moment, he glowed like a miniature sun—and then darkness.
The chalk lines faded to nothing. The beetle dropped to the floor, its purpose served, now just an empty husk. And Valiant...
Valiant stood in his circle, completely still. His fur had settled back into place, but now bore faint blue markings that seemed to shift and move in the dim light. His whiskers occasionally sparked with tiny electrical discharges.
"Valiant?" Adom called softly, releasing the circle's edge. "Are you okay?"
Slowly, Valiant turned to face him. The mouse's eyes had changed—pupils now ringed with electric blue. He opened his mouth to speak, and a small arc of electricity jumped between his teeth.
"It works," he whispered, then louder: "It works! I can't believe it actually works!"
He leapt into the air, a small shower of sparks cascading around him as he landed. "This is amazing! I'm like a storm in a furry package! I'm like lightning with a tail!"
Adom couldn't help but smile at his friend's enthusiasm. "I'd say the procedure was a success, yes. Though we'll need to work on your control before you accidentally electrocute someone."
Valiant stared at his crackling paws, static dancing between his paws.
"Oh, this is so cool," he whispered, tail twitching. "I feel like... like a monster."
He paused, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "No, no--better. A little monster. So small I could fit in a coat. Or a pouch. Or--wait for it--a pocket."
His pupils dilated with excitement. "I've got it. I'm a pok--"
"Valiant," Adom cut in. "Don't."
Valiant blinked. "Don't what?"
"Don't finish that sentence."
"Why not?"
Adom sighed. "Because if you say it, you'll keep saying it. And then others will say it. And then suddenly I'm walking around with the Empire's first lightning-enhanced rodent yelling battle cries every five seconds and trying to brand himself."
Valiant squinted. "...That doesn't sound bad."
"It is," Adom said. "It would be annoying. And I don't know--maybe illegal."
Valiant tilted his head. "Why would it be illegal?"
Adom exhaled through his nose. "I don't know. It just feels like it shouldn't be said. Like... maybe it's not technically forbidden, but I get this horrible sense that saying it too much might violate... something. Some law buried deep in the Imperial Archives. Section ninety-nine, subsection... something. There are words forbidden in the empire."
Valiant tilted his head. "That's oddly specific."
"I'm being cautious," Adom muttered. "Just don't make it a thing."
There was a pause.
Valiant, sotto voce: "...Pocket monster."
Adom: "No."
*****
As Valiant practiced creating controlled sparks between his paws, a soft green glow suddenly emanated from Adom's workbench. The communication crystal pulsed with incoming contact.
Adom crossed the room in three quick strides and activated the crystal. "Hello?"
"It's Tam," came the hushed voice through the crystal. The connection had that slightly hollow quality that made it sound like the speaker was in a well, but the words were clear enough. "I've got news."
"How's it going in there?" Adom asked, adjusting the crystal's resonance to reduce interference.
"Major developments," Tam replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "Tresh is stepping down as Guildmaster of the Crimson Scale. She's dissolving the guild entirely by the end of the month."
Adom's eyes widened. He glanced at Valiant, who was now paying rapt attention, his exercise forgotten.
"Dissolving?" Adom repeated. "Are you certain?"
"I was in the room when she announced it. She's already started the paperwork. Said there was no point trying to rebuild after everything that's happened."
Adom and Valiant exchanged looks of barely contained excitement.
"But..." Tam continued.
Adom's smile faded slightly. "But what?"
"It's Marco. When Tresh announced the dissolution, he tried to take control. Challenged her directly. She shut him down, but three junior members stayed with him after she left." A pause, then: "They're planning something, sir. I don't know what yet, but Marco's desperate. He's lost Tresh's protection, and he knows he's vulnerable now."