Chapter 1.The Seal
Nero POV
The journey back to Blackvein was slower than before.
Drift rode in the back of the wagon, his injured leg wrapped tightly in bloodstained bandages. Every bump in the road drew a grunt from him, but he never complained. Caya sat beside him, changing the cloth whenever fresh blood soaked through. Rook walked ahead of the wagons with the rescued captives, making sure nobody wandered off.
I walked at the very front. Nobody barked orders at me anymore.
The rescued miners kept stealing glances at me. Some smiled. Others nodded in quiet thanks.
One little boy tugged on my sleeve.“Mister.” I looked down.“Thank you... for saving my mum.”
His mother quickly pulled him back, embarrassed. “I’m sorry. He shouldn’t bother you.”
“It’s fine.” The boy grinned. “I thought monsters wore chains.”
I looked at the iron around my wrists. “So did I.”
His mother lowered her eyes. “You’re not a monster.”
She led her son away before I could answer.
By the time we reached Lord Voss’s manor, word had already spread. Servants rushed through the courtyard and Guards lined the entrance.
The moment Elara climbed down from the wagon, a middle-aged man in expensive dark robes ran down the manor steps.
“Elara!” She barely had time to stand before he wrapped his arms around her. “I thought...” His voice broke. “I thought I’d lost you.”
“I’m alright, Father.”
“No.” He held her tighter. “You’re home.” The courtyard fell silent and Even Drift looked away.
After a long moment, Lord Voss finally let go and looked over Elara’s shoulder.
His eyes landed on me. Not on Drift or Rook. Me. “Which one?”
Elara didn’t hesitate. “Him.” then pointed at me
Lord Voss walked straight toward me and the Rabid Saints exchanged uneasy looks.
He stopped only a step away. “So...” His eyes dropped to the chains around my wrists.
“The man who brought my daughter home is wearing shackles.”
Nobody answered and Drift finally broke the silence. “Because he’s dangerous.”
Lord Voss studied me for another long second. Then he nodded. “I should hope so.”
He looked back at Drift “Dangerous men saved my daughter today.”
Drift scratched his beard awkwardly. “He also saved me.”
Lord Voss suddenly laughed. It was a deep, relieved laugh. “I like you.” He clapped his hands.
Then he gestured to me “Whatever you want,” he said. “Name it. Land. A title. I have a steward’s position open in the eastern district, good pay, good house—”
“I don’t need land,” I said.
“Then coin—”
“I have what I need.”
Voss looked at me. Trying to read me. “Then what.”
I looked at the window. At the village outside it. At the people who had been walking past this house all morning with the specific energy of a place that had exhaled after holding its breath for a very long time.
“I need a seal,” I said. “Not a title. Not land. A written authority — from you — that anyone I approach has to answer my questions. Cooperate with my investigation.” I looked at him. “Whoever was buying those people, they had supply lines. Contacts. Names. I need access to find them.”
Voss was quiet.
“Only the king can grant that kind of authority,” he said.
“I know.”
Another silence.
“The king is traveling. He’s not reachable for—”
“Father.”
Elara was in the doorway. She had cleaned up since the mines — different clothes, hair combed — but she still had the eyes of someone who had been somewhere very dark and was carrying it.
She looked at him.
“You owe him my life,” she said. Simply. No drama in it.
Voss looked at his daughter for a long moment.
Then at me.
“I can give you my seal,” he said finally. “It’s not the king’s. But in this territory, mine carries similar weight.” He looked up. “Everyone in the district answers to me. I’ll write the authority this afternoon.” He paused. “You understand this is not protocol.”
“I understand,” I said.
“And I’m trusting you with something I can’t take back.”
“I know that too.”
He looked at me for another second.
Then nodded once. Like he’d made a decision he’d been running toward for the last hour and had finally let himself arrive at it.
“Enough standing around. Everyone inside. There is enough Food. Baths. And someone get Master Drift a proper healer before he decides to bleed all over my floors.”
“I’ve walked on worse.” Drift growled.
“You’ve also got worse manners.” Elara responded
Even Drift smirked and For the first time since I’d met the Rabid Saints… they actually laughed.
The tension between us felt different. It wasn’t gone. It was Justlighter.
Drift was going to be fine.
That was the first thing the village healer said when she looked at his leg — not great, not perfect, but fine, which given the size of the rock that had been sitting on it for four minutes was frankly more than he deserved.
“Two days,” she said. “Maybe Three. He walks on it before then and the bone shifts.”
“I heard that,” Drift said from the cot, sounding deeply put out.
Sable caught my eye across the room. I caught his back. Neither of us said anything. But we were both thinking the same thing, which was that two days in a mining town wasn’t ideal and also wasn’t optional.
Rook was already outside somewhere. I could hear him. He was pacing and trying not to look like he was pacing.
Caya stood near the window with her arms crossed, watching the village.
Then we were summoned to feast.
The dining hall smelled of roasted meat, fresh bread, herbs, and warm butter.
The long oak table disappeared beneath the food. There was Roasted boar. Honey-glazed carrots.
Steaming potatoes Fresh berry pies.
The rescued villagers ate like people who hadn’t seen food in weeks.
Lord Voss stood. A servant handed him a heavy leather pouch.
He walked toward Drift “Our agreement” . He placed the pouch on the table. “Your reward is thirty.”
He looked at the rest of the Saints. “You rescued innocent people.You’ve earned every coin.”
Rook let out a low whistle. “We’re rich.”
Caya smirked. “For about two days.”
Drift pushed the pouch toward Rook.
Lord Voss smiled. “I expected excitement.”
Drift shrugged. “We’ve learned not to celebrate until we’re alive tomorrow.”
The noble laughed again. “A fair point.”
Sable looked at the coin. Then at me. Then at the coin again. “You could have gone,” he said. Quiet. Not accusatory. Just stating it. He held my eyes for a moment. “What’s your game,” he said.
“I don’t have a game, Sable.”
“Everyone has a game.”
