"This," I said, tearing the bag open with a flourish. The smell of artificial cheese and MSG exploded into the room. "Is a Divine Vitality Extract. Very rare. Very dangerous." I smirked and reached in and pulled out a single, jagged, neon-orange Cheeto. I held it out to him. "Just one, Rufus. Your mortal frame might not be able to handle more."The dwarf took it with trembling fingers. He sniffed it. He licked a tiny bit of the orange dust. His eyes widened. Then, he popped the whole thing into his mouth.Crunch. For a second, nothing happened. Then, the world went crazy. Literal, blinding white light began to pour out of Rufus’s nose. Then his ears. Then his mouth. It was like he’d swallowed a miniature sun. His dwarf-mana, which was usually a steady gold, turned a violent, vibrating green."MY BLOOD IS FIRE!" Rufus roared, his voice booming like a mountain collapsing. "THE KNOWLEDGE! THE SPEED! I CAN SEE THE MOLECULES IN THE IRON! I CAN FORGE A HUNDRED BLADES BEFORE THE SUN SETS! I

"Can I get you more wine, Arthur?” Herbert asked. His voice, usually a gravelly rumble, was dripping with a desperate, syrupy sweetness that made my skin crawl."I'm fine," I said, leaning back and crossing my legs. I felt like a mob boss, except my "bodyguards" were a broken mercenary and a half-blind messenger.Then there was Barnaby. He was standing a few feet away, watching me with his one good eye, the other was a milky, clouded orb that saw nothing. He was a man of few words, a former royal messenger who had once galloped across the kingdom carrying the Queen’s own seal. Now, he was a widower with two kids to feed, living in the tiny shack behind the shop. He didn't hover like Herbert, but the way he adjusted my cloak and kept my glass filled told me everything I needed to know.I was no longer the "skinny brat." I was the source. I was the golden goose."You look tired, lad," Barnaby grunted, his voice softening. "The burden of divinity must be heavy on such young shoulders."I

My gaze darted to the Spy's "potion" tray, which he had so meticulously placed on a discarded crate. There were dozens of them: bubbling concoctions in every color imaginable, glowing blues, shimmering greens, ominous purples. I remembered reading in one of Helga’s ledgers that royal alchemists often carried volatile reagents for... well, for making people explode, usually.An idea, as brilliant and dangerous as a Cheeto-fueled dwarf, sparked in my brain."Oh, unstable, you say?" I mused aloud, a wide, mischievous grin spreading across my face. "Well, that's just poor potion-making, isn't it?"I took a step forward, raising the Taser. The Royal Spy's eyes widened. "Don't you dare! These are highly volatile Royal Alchemical formulations! You'll vaporize us all!""Relax, it's just a little bit of 'internal logic resonance,' remember?" I said, channeling my best villain impression. "A little spark to spice things up."I aimed the Viper-X at the tray of potions. The sky, sensing impending

"It’s worse than that, Arthur," Helga whispered, her usual merchant bravado replaced by genuine fear. "The Nobles are furious. You’re selling power, pure, concentrated mana, outside of their control. The Queen’s Alchemists are being made to look like fools. If the Palace gets their hands on you, you won't be 'detained.' You'll be a laboratory rat in the Royal Dungeon until they bleed the secret of your 'Internal Logic' out of you."Rufus started pacing, his heavy boots shaking the floorboards. "The political balance is tipped, lad. The Church thinks you're a heretic summoning forbidden lightning; the Nobles think you're a rebel arming the masses. You’re a one-man revolution."I have to escape?" I squeaked. The "Manly Sass" was currently on a coffee break, replaced by the reality of being a sickly twenty-year-old with the constitution of a wet paper towel. "Rufus, I’ve been here for a week! I don't know the roads! I’ll get eaten by a wolf or a very aggressive squirrel before I reach th

Inside the flickering amber glow of the shop, Helga turned away from the rain-lashed door and looked at Rufus. The sight was jarring. Rufus was a pillar of the kingdom’s industry, a man of iron and ego who usually only bowed his head to the heat of the forge. Yet, she had seen him bow to Arthur as if the boy were a king from a time before the stars were named.She walked toward the counter, her fingers grazing the silk pouches she’d prepared, her mind spinning through the decades of her life. For thirty years, Helga had been the heartbeat of this district. Her shop was a sanctuary of fair trade and honest words; she had survived the rise and fall of merchant houses by being the one steady hand in a world of cutthroats.But her greatest business move hadn't been a contract or a trade deal. It had been a walk.A few days ago, driven by a restless urge to expand her staff, she had ventured into the gray, suffocating misery of the slums. She had been looking for a servant, perhaps a despe