Luckborn

Mr. Rosner set out half a dozen mismatched mugs on the kitchen table, the porcelain clinking softly against the wood. Steam rose in curling tendrils as he filled each one with strong, dark coffee. He passed the mugs around, then nudged a small tray of cream and sugar toward the center of the table.

When everyone had settled with their coffee just the way they liked it, Mr. Rosner folded his hands on the table. His gaze moved around the group, lingering briefly on each face. "All right," he said at last, his voice steady but lined with fatigue. "What do we do about this mess?"

They all exchanged uncertain glances. The silence stretched—until Levi leaned forward.

"We set up a buy," he said.

Mr. Rosner's brow furrowed, and Otter frowned. "What does that mean, exactly?"

Levi met his gaze evenly. "Exactly what it sounds like. We arrange a meeting with the seller—under the pretense that we're interested in purchasing the design."

Sage tilted her head, her expression skeptical. "Isn't that risky? Whoever this person is already knows your father. I doubt they'd take a meeting with him."

Mr. Rosner gave a low grunt of agreement. "She's right, son. They'd smell a trap before you even said hello."

Levi nodded. "Which is why you have to stay out of this, Father." He picked up the last mug, blew across it, and took a measured sip. The pause gave him a moment to think, to shape his idea before speaking. Then, setting the cup down with a soft clink, he said, "I've got contacts you don't. The sort who deal in rumors and favors—people who trade in whispers, not ledgers. I'll spread the bait. Make it sound like a private buyer—someone discreet, maybe a rival merchant family trying to buy under the table."

Otter crossed his arms, still unconvinced. "All right, but who actually goes to this meeting? One of us? We're not exactly what I'd call intimidating businessmen."

Levi's lips twitched in a faint grin. "That's the beauty of it—it won't matter. The seller probably won't show. He'll send a representative instead, someone expendable to handle the exchange. A smart buyer would do the same."

Milo frowned. "And if the seller doesn't show up, how does that help us?"

Before Levi could answer, Jasper leaned forward, a glint of understanding in his eyes. "Because we follow the rep. See who they report to."

Levi snapped his fingers, a spark of satisfaction lighting his face. "Exactly. We let the rep lead us back to the source. That's how we find whoever's behind this."

Mr. Rosner studied his son for a long, contemplative moment, his expression unreadable. Then, finally, he nodded. "He's right. That's a sound strategy. Risky, yes—but sound."

Levi's grin widened just slightly at the approval. "Don't worry, I'll handle the setup. It may take a few days to get word to the right ears, but I'll make it convincing."

Otter nodded. "We'll check in tonight after our meeting with Marcus. That should give us time to prepare."

"Good." Levi drained the last of his coffee, pushed his chair back, and stood. "Then I'd better get to work."

He gave them all a quick nod and headed for the door, his boots thudding lightly on the wood floor. A moment later, they heard him jogging down the hall and up the stairs, already moving with purpose.

The kitchen seemed quieter in his absence.

Mr. Rosner watched the doorway for a moment longer, then turned back to the group with a small, prideful smile. "Don't tell him I said this," he murmured, "but that boy's destined for big things."

Jasper cleared his throat, voice rough with sincerity. "Begging your pardon, sir—but you should tell him that."

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Mr. Rosner's eyes softened. For a moment, the lines of worry on his face eased. "Perhaps I will," he said quietly.

* * *

Branthor was waiting in the courtyard, his expression calm but unreadable. Two figures stood beside him—one a woman in robes of deep crimson trimmed with gold, the other a lean man in lighter garb marked by the same sigil of the Flame.

"Ah, there you are," Branthor said, inclining his head. "The envoys are ready. May I present Sister Anara and Brother Tellen, both faithful servants of Elarion and witnesses to your charge."

Sister Anara bowed, her copper hair coiled neatly at the nape of her neck. "It will be an honor to walk beside you in this matter."

Brother Tellen smiled faintly. "And a greater honor still to see what truths the Light reveals."

Otter returned the gesture, trying to match their solemnity. "We're grateful for your help. We don't want to cause more trouble than we already have."

"The Flame rarely leads where comfort lies," Anara said, her voice calm but firm. "But it leads true."

Branthor clasped his hands behind his back. "While the presence of our envoys will provide a measure of protection from Caelum's faithful, there are no guarantees. I recommend you proceed with caution, deference, and utmost respect."

Sage nodded. "We understand."

"Good." Branthor's eyes softened a little. "Then go with Elarion's light. May it temper pride and kindle wisdom."

They departed together through the crowded streets, the two priests leading the way. Aurelia stretched around them in full splendor—arches of crystal that shimmered like morning dew, bridges of enchanted iron bending impossibly thin between spires, and banners that caught the sunlight and refracted it into living rainbows. The hum of mana thrummed faintly underfoot, a reminder that even the city itself was alive with purpose.

The Temple of Caelum soon came into view.

It stood at the crest of a hill overlooking the Aurelian River, stark where Elarion's was resplendent. Its marble walls were unadorned, its spire a single blade of stone stabbing into the blue sky. Even from a distance, the air around it felt cooler—disciplined, austere. Where Elarion's fire burned bright and shifting, Caelum's radiance was fixed, steady, unyielding.

As they climbed the steps, the noise of the city seemed to fade.

Sister Anara paused at the threshold and glanced at Otter. "Once inside, let us speak for you until the Conduit receives us. Remember—humility first, truth always."

Otter nodded, his heart thudding faster than he liked to admit.

The great doors opened on silent hinges, revealing a vast chamber of white marble and bright light. Sunlight streamed down through a skylight shaped like an open hand, striking the floor in perfect symmetry.

At the far end of the hall, a small group of acolytes knelt in silent prayer before a statue of Caelum—the god rendered in smooth stone, one hand raised in judgment, the other extended in mercy.

A priest in gray robes turned as they entered, his eyes flicking over the visitors before fixing on the flame-colored sigils of Anara and Tellen.

"Welcome," he said, his tone neutral, but his expression was one of curiosity. "What brings our cousins to this house of worship today?"

"We come seeking audience with Conduit Marcus of Caelum," Anara replied evenly.

The man's brows lifted slightly. "Marcus? He receives few visitors these days."

"Then today he will receive a few more," said Tellen, calm but firm.

The priest studied them for a moment longer, then inclined his head. "Very well. Wait here." He turned and strode toward a side passage, his footsteps fading into the quiet.

The group stood in uneasy silence.

Jasper leaned close to Otter, murmuring under his breath, "You sure this is a good idea?"

Otter swallowed. "Not even a little."

Moments later, footsteps echoed again—two sets this time. The priest returned, and behind him came Marcus.

The Conduit of Caelum looked little different than the last time they had seen him—save for the shadows under his eyes. His robes were clean, his expression weary but alert. When his gaze swept across the group and landed on Otter, something hard flickered behind his calm façade.

"You," Marcus said quietly. Then Otter saw confusion in his eyes. "Have you come to confess your sins. To offer repentance and stand in judgment?"

Otter said nothing. He feared that if he opened his mouth, he would say something to set him off.

Sister Anara inclined her head slightly. "Conduit Marcus, we come not to quarrel but to speak. The Flame sends her servants in good faith to share warning and seek understanding."

Marcus's gaze flicked to her, cool and assessing. "Good faith," he echoed. "A rare commodity in this city. As for Elarion," his hand reflexively touched the mask on his face. "She is not in my favor at the moment."

At that, the envoys tensed. Expressing such open disdain for another god was a sign of hostility.

Sage stepped forward, her tone calm, but firm. "We are here to ask for your help. You have seen for yourself the danger within the city. We fear our victory was only a small one. There may be more like it, if we do not act swiftly."

Marcus's features clouded over. This was clearly not what he had expected, and it appeared he didn't know what to do with this information. "I…" He shuddered, then stood straighter. "We must bring this matter before the High Conduit. He is already aware of yesterday's events. I need his guidance in this matter."

The High Conduit? That sounded awfully serious to Otter. Maybe this was another ploy to force him to face judgment. He glanced at the envoys, but they showed no sign of concern.

"Lead the way," Tellen said.