Raith ended [Staccato] and closed the book with deliberate care, pressing the worn leather cover flat beneath his palm as if sealing in the knowledge before it could escape. He held it there a moment longer than necessary, listening to the hush of the Rare and Priceless section of the Order’s grand library. The air smelled of leather, dust and old paper, his favorite potpourri.

  He slid the volume back into its cradle on the shelf and stepped away reluctantly, eyes already scanning the spines around it. Gilded titles winked at him in the lamplight: lost treatises on dwarven metallurgy, a first translation of the Elenthir Codex, three rare and treasured volumes of gnomish cartography. His fingers twitched.

  From inside his coat, he withdrew a folded sheet of parchment and smoothed it open against the nearest lectern. His list. Categorized, prioritized, and annotated. He’d even added a marginal star system for “urgency of acquisition.”

  “Exotic Species of the Red Marches,” he muttered, tapping the parchment. He turned to move to the next shelf…and nearly leapt out of his boots.

  Myst stood there, leaning casually against the bookcase behind him, arms crossed, one ankle hooked over the other. She had the infuriating stillness of a stalking cat.

  “Weaver’s tits, you scared the crap out of me.”

  Her smile was friendly but unapologetic.

  “Thea sent me to get you,” she said, pushing off the shelf. “If you don’t come on, you’re going to be late for your own event.”

  Raith blinked at her.

  “Do I have time for one more book?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  He looked past her longingly at a lacquered case that held something bound in deep blue silk.

  “Just a glance?”

  “You’re procrastinating,” Myst said, stepping aside enough to let him pass, “let’s get going.”

  She must have caught the tension in his expression, because her tone softened. She reached out and gave his shoulder a firm, sympathetic pat.

  “It won’t be that bad.”

  He let himself get ushered towards the door. At the threshold of the Rare and Priceless section, Raith paused. He glanced over his shoulder at her.

  “There’s not gonna be a bunch of guards outside, is there?”

  Myst laughed outright this time and gave him a gentle shove between the shoulder blades.

  “Not this time. Get moving.”

  He walked slowly through the library and out into the crisp afternoon light. The walk to Beckhaven Stadium was mercifully short, though it felt like a march to the gallows. The city was loud today, with vendors hawking sugared nuts and commemorative ribbons, children chasing one another with wooden swords, banners snapping overhead in the breeze.

  His face was on one of those banners. He tried not to look.

  As the stadium loomed ahead, its white stone arches festooned with crimson and gold, the low murmur of the gathered crowd rolled outward like distant surf. Raith slowed despite himself.

  “It sure sounds like there’s a lot of people in there.”

  Myst fell into step beside him. “There are.”

  He glanced sideways at her, calculating. There was no chance he could take her in a fight. But he was almost positive if he made a run for it, ducked into the spice market, vaulted a produce cart…

  A faint crease appeared between her brows.

  “You’re thinking too loudly,” she said.

  “I am not.”

  “I've escorted dozens of dangerous criminals. I know that look, you’re mapping escape routes.”

  He sniffed. “Contingency planning.”

  “Your mom and sister are just inside,” Myst added casually. “They wanted to see you before you join your team.”

  His carefully constructed plan to sprint into obscurity dissolved. They entered through the team gate, past guards who nodded respectfully instead of scowling. The corridor beyond was cool and dim, the sounds of the crowd muffled by thick stone walls.

  Leah and his mother stood near the entrance to the readying rooms, exactly as Myst had said. His mother saw him first.

  She crossed the space between them in three steps and wrapped her arms around him so tightly he lost the ability to breathe.

  “Oh, my boy,” she whispered, already crying. “My brave, foolish boy.”

  He hugged her back, awkward and overwhelmed.

  “I’m fine, mom,” he murmured into her hair. “Still in one piece.”

  She pulled back at last, cupping his face between her hands. Her eyes scanned him as if taking inventory. Then she frowned.

  “You could have had this laundered and ironed,” she said with a sniff, tugging at his collar.

  He glanced down at the faint crease near his shoulder.

  “I was busy doing Captain stuff.”

  “That’s no excuse for wrinkling.”

  Leah stepped forward, her expression somber in a way that immediately made him wary.

  “And don’t do that thing with your face,” she said.

  “What thing?”

  “That thing. Where you squint and tilt your head like you’re trying not to fart whenever you feel uncomfortable.”

  He opened his mouth then shut it.

  “See?” she said triumphantly.

  “Could you please not criticize me today?”

  “I’m not,” she replied. “I’m just pointing out how stupid it is when you do that.”

  Then she hugged him, fierce and quick.

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  “I’m proud of you,” she whispered against his shoulder. “Don’t get used to it.”

  His mother kissed his cheek. “We’ll be watching.”

  “Try not to laugh if I trip,” he said.

  She swatted his arm.

  “You haven't tripped since you were a toddler.”

  They hurried toward the stands before he could embarrass himself further.

  He lingered a moment, watching them go. His chest felt tight, and not from fear this time.

  Myst had continued down the corridor without him. He took a breath and joined the others in the waiting chamber.

  Nyhm stood near the far wall, pale as parchment. Raith had seen him face down one of the most powerful Templars in the realm without flinching. Now his hands were clasped so tightly his knuckles had gone white.

  “You look ill,” Raith observed.

  Nyhm swallowed. “There are thousands of them.”

  “Yes.”

  “They’re all looking at us.”

  “That is generally how ceremonies function.”

  Nyhm glared, but Raith came over and gave him a hug then held his shoulders at arms length.

  "Hey, you aren't fighting anyone this time. I'll be right next to you through the whole thing."

  His brother nodded gratefully and some of the tension eased out of his shoulders. Having to put Nyhm at ease had made Raith feel a little better, too. Not a lot, mind you, but a little.

  Thea paced near the door, her jaw set. She didn’t look much better than Nyhm, though she hid it a lot better. Zinny and Tolliver, by contrast, were chatting amiably about which noble houses were likely to send invitations after today.

  “Do you think the Lady of Densmere will have a party? I love parties so very very much.” Zinny was asking.

  Raith opened his mouth to object to more parties, then closed it again. He just wanted to unwind after this, but that may not be in the cards for them. Either way now wasn’t the time to start bickering with Zinny.

  Hob, Myst, and Relk stood off to one side, speaking in low tones. They looked relaxed, as if this were merely another assignment completed. Perhaps for them it was. Even Hob had been forced into Templar missions before.

  He wanted to say something inspiring. Something captainly. Instead he found himself staring at the floor, listening to his own pulse in his ears.

  What was he supposed to say? We didn’t die?

  A sharply dressed youth entered, bowing briskly.

  “My Lords and Ladies. It is time.”

  The room fell silent.

  They formed up instinctively, as though preparing for a breach or a charge. But this time there were no drawn blades, no smoke, no shouted orders. Only a corridor leading toward sound and light.

  The roar hit them first as they stepped through the archway. It was not a roar of battle but of anticipation. And then, as they emerged into the open air of Beckhaven Stadium, a hush rolled across the packed stands.

  Raith felt it physically…he weight of thousands of eyes settling on them.

  At the center of the arena stood a military formation in precise lines, armor gleaming. At its head was his father. He stood straight and proud, silver at his temples catching the sun. Not a tremor in his posture. Derry stood three rows back, uniform immaculate. Unlike their father, he could not quite contain himself; his gaze darted to Raith, and the corners of his mouth twitched upward in a quick, irrepressible smile.

  Raith couldn’t hold back an answering grin.

  They walked forward across the hard packed dirt toward a raised dais draped in crimson and gold. Upon it sat the Archduke of Beckhaven, flanked by his advisors to include Tolliver’s father.

  The Spymaster looked down on his son with something akin to approval. Raith stole a glance at his friend to see a mix of emotions warring beneath the surface of that haughty veneer.

  They halted before the platform.

  “On your knee,” Thea murmured.

  They knelt as one.

  A herald stepped forward, voice ringing clear as a bell.

  “People of Beckhaven! Citizens of the Realm! Attend and bear witness!”

  The crowd stilled further.

  “Before you stand the Myth Seekers, Lord Raith Quirric; Lord Nyhm Quirric; Lady Thea Gannon; Lord Tolliver bel Thane; and Lady Ziniferia Quirric who, with the aid of Templars Myst, Hob and Belck, in the darkest hour of treachery, stormed the corrupted keep of the enemy, broke the gates of betrayal, and struck down the traitor Venton!”

  A murmur rippled at the name.

  “They did not falter. They did not yield. With courage beyond measure and cunning beyond expectation, they avenged the fallen and preserved the kingdom! Let it be known this day that their names are written among the defenders of the Realm!”

  The stadium erupted. Raith kept his head bowed, though his ears burned.

  The Archduke rose and addressed the group. His voice resonant without strain.

  “Rise, Myth Seekers.”

  They stood.

  “I will not gild the truth with excess ornament,” the Archduke began. “The realm was imperiled not by foreign blade, but by rot within its own Order. Venton, once sworn to serve as High Emissary, betrayed that oath. He conspired to fracture our unity and seize power through deceit.”

  The crowd murmured darkly.

  “In such moments, it is easy for fear to take root. It is easy for distrust to spread. But these brave men and women” he gestured toward them “refused to allow that rot to fester.”

  Raith felt Thea shift subtly beside him. He glanced at her, and imagined his ears were the same shade of red as hers in embarrassment at this praise.

  “They stormed the Templar’s keep when others hesitated. They faced Venton and his adherents not for glory, nor coin, nor favor, but because it was right.”

  Raith winced inwardly at that. There was an extent to which he still felt like this had all been his fault, however irrational that was. That maybe if he hadn’t gotten Venton’s attention with his little break in all those months ago none of this would have happened. He had to stop him from physically shaking his head to clear the thoughts as the Archduke continued.

  “They fought beside loyal Templars, Hob, Myst, and Relk, who also stand celebrated before us. Together they severed treachery at its root.”

  A cheer rose for the three behind them.

  “For this, the Crown owes a debt it cannot fully repay. But it will try.”

  An attendant stepped forward bearing a velvet cushion upon which lay five medals of platinum and gold, each bearing the sigil of Beckhaven.

  “By the authority vested in me,” the Archduke continued, “I name you Heroes of the Realm and award you the Medal of Sovereign Valor.”

  One by one, they stepped forward.

  When Raith’s turn came, he climbed the steps to the dais. Up close, the Archduke’s gaze was sharp and assessing.

  “It is a pleasure to see my wisdom in granting your nobility bear such fruits," he said quietly as he fastened the medal to Raith’s coat.

  Raith swallowed, biting off a sharp reply. For all that things change, some stay exactly the same..

  “Thank you, Your Grace.”

  He descended the steps in a daze, the medal heavy against his chest.

  The crowd rose to its feet.

  For a moment, just a moment, he allowed himself to look up. He found his mother in the stands, hand pressed to her mouth. Leah was clapping, eyes bright. Next to them stood Vandamir, Crinkle standing on his shoulder and waving madly.

  The noise washed over him like a tide.

  The ceremony concluded in a blur of applause and fanfare. When at last they were ushered back toward the readying chambers, the weight in his chest felt different. Not necessarily lighter. Just…changed.

  Inside the corridor, away from the roar, they paused.

  Nyhm exhaled shakily. “I did not vomit.”

  “You did not,” Raith confirmed solemnly.

  Zinny twirled her medal and spun in a neat circle.

  “Heroes of the Realm. That has a nice ring.”

  Tolliver grinned. Thea looked at Raith.

  “Well, Captain?” she asked quietly. “What’s next?”

  The question struck deeper than she likely intended.

  For so long now, everything had been a hectic rush of one thing to the next. There had been no room to think beyond it. Now there was space, and it felt maybe a bit frightening.

  He glanced down at the medal, then back up at his team. At Nyhm’s steadying breath, at Zinny’s restless excitement, at Tolliver’s upraised chin, at Thea’s expectant gaze.

  He felt the familiar spark stir in his chest. Curiosity. Possibility. Excitement?

  “I dunno,” he said honestly.

  They waited. A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

  “What do you say,” he continued, “we finally get in that tower climb?”

  Zinny gasped.

  “Can we go to the Starspire?”

  Nyhm blinked.

  “That tower is notoriously lethal.”

  “So they say,” Raith said. “But legend has it there's a library at the top.”

  “That no one has ever made it to,” Thea said, but she was smiling.

  Tolliver’s lips curved down faintly.

  “We just received a medal for saving the kingdom.”

  “And what better way to celebrate?” Raith replied.

  “Then by risking our lives on something entirely unnecessary?” Tolliver’s eyes narrowed, and Raith was afraid he’d picked the wrong moment for this discussion. But a smile broke over the [Mage]’s face. “I can’t think of a single thing.”

  Thea shook her head, though her eyes were warm.

  “We’ll need to prepare.”

  “Of course,” Raith said. “Properly this time.”

  Myst appeared in the corridor’s archway, arms folded.

  “You’re already planning your next disaster?”

  He smiled at her. “Would you expect anything less?”

  She considered him for a long moment, then huffed a quiet laugh.

  “Try not to get involved in any more plots that threaten the entire Three Kingdoms.”

  “No promises.”

  As they stepped out into the late afternoon light, medals gleaming, Raith felt the weight of expectation settle on his shoulders. He looked down and the medal around his neck.

  Hero.

  He still wasn’t certain the word fit.

  But as his team fell into step around him, and the city of Beckhaven stretched wide and alive before them, he realized something else.

  He didn’t have to carry it alone.

  lot I feel needs to be fixed in this story before that happens. In the meantime, thank all of you wonderful people for reading. It's been an honor.