Inch by inch, the circular, darmite vault door slides slowly to the side, disappearing into its frame. As the barrier recedes, my eyes behold what lays behind.

Gold…

Mountains of gold.

Copper and silver also greet my eyes, but their radiance dims when compared to the piles of gold coins neatly stacked atop itself, forming towers of splendour. Whether to the left or the right, no patch of the vault lies barren. Possessing every section of the colossal space, more wealth than could be squandered in a lifetime of wanton pursuits and insatiable appetites.

My gaze lingers on the scene. Captivated, mesmerised, lost to worldly passions, I barely register the shuffle of my feet as I subconsciously shift closer to the wealth before me.

I could take it…

Nothing stops me from taking it.

It could be mine.

It could all be mine.

I could go no further, surrender my ambitions, and live like a king among mortals. What's wrong with that? No more fighting; no more killing. I could just live my life. I could sample every carnal desire. Is that not the goal of all living things? Is not the ends of all ambition the delicacies of the flesh?

Why wrest paradise from the gods when I can build a paradise among the mortals? It would be easy, so very easy. Is this not what I truly desire?

It is…

I want it!

I need it!

It must be mine!

Pinching the corner of my lower lip between my teeth, I bite down, puncturing my lip and drowning my tongue with iron.

The shock breaks the spell. At once, I feel the vault's hold on my will loosen and slip. Though it attempts to reclaim my mind, I use the moment's reprieve to steer my eyes away from the sirens that seek to dash my will upon the rocks.

With my eyes directed away from the endless valley of riches, I reach into my trouser pocket and withdraw a watch. I unlatch its chain from the buttonhole of my waistcoat, gather the fob to my hand, and throw the device through the parted jaw of the vault.

The watch slaps the floor.

Closing my eyes and focusing Tension to my ears, I stand, wait, and listen. At first, there is nothing, but all at once, a thunderous thunk bursts from within the repository. My ears, attuned through Tension, I hear each metal gear and fragmented glass from my fob-watch trickle down to the strongroom's floor. Without question, whatever remains of the device is not worth the time to collect.

So that's the trick…

With my eyes shut, I kneel and lay my hand flat on the stone-tiled floor. Deep breaths stream in and out of my lungs; focusing solely on the sound, I allow the rhythmic tones to muffle the world beyond my own mind.

From the darkness, a vast web emerges. Like a disembodied spirit, my consciousness hovers before the weave; the fullness of its intricacies is palpable within my mind's eye. With a thought, I reach out. My consciousness spreads; it travels the labyrinth before me, merging, in part, with the immeasurable network.

As if navigating endless tunnels, my mind runs through the web; it studies, observes, and investigates all that it passes, seeking any crack or weakness within the structure. Like a knife piercing my skull, a sharp pain cuts into my head, but I ignore it. Refocusing my mind on the task at hand, I continue to search the vastness surrounding, engulfing, and permeating my very being.

Thread by thread, I map the network. The flaws in its design become apparent to me, and I exploit them. Slowly and methodically, I untangle the structure until it unravels around me and ejects my mind from its framework.

I open my eyes; splotches of red pattern the white, stone-tiled floor beneath me. Lifting the back of my index finger below my nostrils, I feel a warm, damp streak. With the back of my hand, I wipe the coagulating blood from around my mouth then return to my feet.

Once again, I look into the vault. The mountains of riches remain, but their command over my passions is no longer present.

'Excellent work.' Footsteps tap the floor behind me. Without turning, I already know the identity of my guest.

'You're late.' I say. Gruff chuckles patter the air behind me, and the footsteps continue forwards.

'I sensed your work wasn't finished. I waited until I was sure you could deliver on your boasts. Besides all that, if I got here earlier, I would have ended up waiting for you to finish anyway, or worse, I would have walked right into that final trap.'

I turn around to face the man before me. Despite his stature and age, the man radiates a virility and strength one would not expect if appearance was all there is to go by.

'Well, old man, is this enough to cover the costs of our arrangement?' Deep rumbles roll from the man's throat. Gently shaking his head, the man strokes the length of his long, grey beard.

'My name isn't "old man". I get more than enough temerity from Olivia to last a lifetime. Call me Goat, my name, or nothing at all. But to answer your question, yes- this will more than cover what they're asking. Listen, boy; I have to ask, is this all necessary?'

Turning from the tailor, I wave an arm towards the piles of coin as if presenting them for his perusal. 'You're the one who quoted the price. You said for what I want- I'd need to plunder a bank.'

'That isn't what I mean, and you know it. When I recruited you to retrieve the fruit of Idunn, none of this is what I had in mind. It's one thing to lift a treasure from the undeserving hands of some noble bastards. It's another thing entirely to provoke them to war. Even with your perfume and false identity, you can't reasonably believe this won't be traced back to you.'

He isn't wrong…

When I first set out to kill Geo, I had no intentions of anything so grand as to cast a region into a bloody war. Murdering a group of nameless rebels could be forgiven. I might have even been rewarded for my contributions to "the rightful order of Aspire." However, plunging an entire region into chaos, murdering countless numbers of "my betters…"

Only in my wildest fantasies could such an act go unpunished.

If I'm lucky, I might have a few months from when my work is complete before the golden-crest investigators discover my involvement. Once I've been revealed, there'll be nowhere on the face of Aspire I won't be hunted. For killing one noble, I was chased across the Oswald Region. For killing hundreds, perhaps thousands of them…

They'll hound me wherever I go.

Truth be told, I might just be committing the most elaborate suicide this world has seen in hundreds of years. And yet…

Though far from my original intentions, the moment I saw the supply of ether-crystals in the Blackshire treasury, my path became clear.

Take them.

Take them all.

Through closed-door cultivation, it might be possible to advance into rank-four of my Tension Resistance prior to the revelation of my role in this sanguinary performance. From there, I will have no further use of the academy; I will flee into the nearest Tower and begin my life anew with the strength to live freely as a maverick.

It isn't a perfect plan, and it's fraught with dangers, but if I succeed…

No!

I will succeed.

'You're here for a reason. Do what you came to do, and leave me to worry about myself.' A soft growl emanates from the tailor's throat. He walks past me and stands before the threshold of the vault. Tension spirals the man; he raises a hand, and from his palm, emerald winds blow. Condensing and twisting, the air Goat commands begins to rotate, taking the form of a tornado. He directs the violent winds towards the sea of precious metals; wherever his hand points, countless gold, silver, and copper coins vanish into the eye of his spatial Art.

His task complete, the tailor lowers his arm. Looking into the vault, I gaze at the empty space which had moments ago contained the riches of the world.

'Impressive.' I speak no lie; spatial Arts are far from common. Besides certain prominent Clans, very few Tension Masters within the mortal realms of cultivation are able to use them. Though they inhabit multiple principles of Tension, the formulae necessary to warp space resist all attempts to manifest the pathways needed to successfully cast an Art.

As a body-Tension Master, spatial Arts are beyond my ability to harness without absorbing the essence of a beast with that ability. However, under Father's tutelage, there are very few matters regarding Tension of which I don't possess at least a basic understanding. It is through said understanding that I can appreciate the tailor's accomplishment.

There's clearly more to this man than is apparent…

It doesn't matter.

Whatever further value the tailor may have, it is useless to me. The moment I take the ether-crystals, kill Geo and retrieve Rachel, there'll be no time for anything other than cultivation. The executioner's blade dangles precariously over my neck. Now is not the time to contemplate future, hypothetical benefits.

'Let's go. I might have bribed the peacekeepers, but there's only so long they'll stay put considering the mess you made.' The tailor turns from the vault, stretches out his arm and claws the air. From the lines he carved before him, distortions cut through the empty space. Goat holds a hand in front of the tears, and they burst, forming a jagged rift in the air.

'You first.' Sighing at my words, the tailor shakes his head.

'The second I walk through the rift, it'll close behind me. It leads to my shop, kid. If I wanted you dead, it wouldn't be before you get me what I want.'

Though I don't trust the man, I trust his sense of self-preservation. In the time I've known him, it's clear he has many secrets but one thing he hasn't concealed, cannot conceal is the fact he's dying. Without the fruit, I would find myself exceedingly surprised if he survives the year.

Denying my doubts their due consideration, I steady my heart with resolve and walk through the rift.

***

'Get him to a healing centre!'

Floating?

No, carried.

Pain!

So much pain.

My eyes open to the sight of brown-haired men staring at me. Their faces… Concern.

Wait!

Suspicion.

It doesn't matter. The fact that I'm here and not dead is enough to know that my gambit paid off.

Gritting my teeth, I attempt to ignore the searing agony ravishing my insides. Looking down the length of my body, I see a scarlet hilted knife protruding from my stomach.

'Let me see him! Let me through! I need to see my husband!' That voice… Alicia. I turn my face towards her melodious tone. Breaking through the crowd, The girl rushes to my side.

'What happened!' Alicia asks.

I lift my sight from the girl's pale face to her moistened eyes; she reaches out to touch me, but her attempt is thwarted by a golden-haired woman donning a white lab coat.

'We need to get him to the healing centre. Please clear the way.' The gathering crowd parts, clearing a path between them. Guided by the blonde physician, the four men lifting the litter I lie on follow the woman into a building.

'Don't worry, Logan; your sister is here to take care of you.'

Shit!

My sister? That wasn't part of the plan…

I'm taken into a private room and gently laid on a hospital bed.

A man bursts into the room. Though my vision blurs in and out of focus, the brief periods of clarity allow me to identify the man as Philip Blackshire, Alicia's father.

'What happened to him? Where are the others he went with?'Philip charges to my bedside and grips my arm, igniting pain through my shattered bones.

'Lord elder, please unhand my brother! I need to tend to his injuries, and then he needs rest. Whatever questions you might have can wait until he's fully recovered.' The golden-haired woman takes hold of Philip's wrist and removes his hand from my arm. Though the agony does not subside entirely, my relief is immediate.

'Everyone needs to leave at once. The Mohan Clan knows how to look after their own.' My "sister" ushers the inquisition from the room, closes the door, then turns to me. Without a word, she grips the blade embedded in my gut and swiftly removes it, detonating anguish within me. By sheer willpower, I prevent myself from screaming; it is that same mental fortitude that maintains my consciousness as the golden-haired woman casts healing Art after healing Art to mend the damaged state of my body.

As the last of my torn flesh knits together, the healer wipes the sweat from her brow and sighs. Pulling a chair beside my bed, she removes her white coat, places it behind her seat, and sits.

'You sure do know how to get into trouble, don't you, my sweet boy?'

What?

The air around the woman begins to fizzle. Ebony patches sprout across her skin; they grow and spread, painting her whole body black. Her hair dims, curls, and grows, strand by strand, her once golden hair tints orange, and her transformation is complete.

Huntress.

'I told you, my love, I'd be seeing you soon.'