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Zapper leaned forward, fingers steepled, his gaze fixed on the gem-covered gauntlet.

“You don’t understand, Chance,” he said, tapping the table near the gauntlet, careful not to touch it. “This isn’t just a map. It’s a key. If it leads where I think it does, we’re standing on the edge of something immense. We need to act quickly.”

I shook my head. “I have other things to handle first.”

Zapper’s brow furrowed. “The Baroness? You’d delay discovery for her?”

I met his gaze, unblinking. “No, for me. I have unfinished business. If I walk away now, it’ll follow me. Meet me at my house tomorrow evening. We’ll talk then—about the gauntlet, the ant, and whatever treasures you think we’re about to unearth.”

Zapper let out a frustrated sigh, but nodded. “Tomorrow evening.” He rose, his robes whispering like wind through leaves. “Don’t keep me waiting, Chance. Some doors don’t stay open forever.”

With that, he left, and I was left with the weight of the map, the gauntlet, and the hum of tavern ballads still lingering in the air.

The journey back was long, but I finally made it home.

“Jarvis, prepare a room for a child,” I said as I stepped through the door.

“Yes, sir. Your correspondence is on the desk in your study.”

“Good. Thank you.”

I found Ordazar waiting in the study, surrounded by books.

“Ordazar,” I said, “I think it’s time you read all of these.”

He looked up, wide-eyed. “All of them?”

I nodded. “We’ll talk about your education after.”

“I want to go with you to explore the ant map,” he said.

“There’s much to learn here first,” I replied.

“When I finish reading, can I go?” he asked eagerly.

“How long will it take you to read them all?”

“Three days,” he said.

I smiled, though there was a weight in the air between us. “Then we’ll see.”

The morning light filtered through the thick curtains, casting a soft glow over the city. The usual bustle of the street below was muffled by the thick stone walls of the Baroness’s estate. Chance stood outside the gate, his boots crunching on the frost-kissed cobblestone path, the air sharp and cold in the early hours. He pulled his cloak tighter, the silver clasp glinting in the pale sun as it reflected off the ornate gate.

As the tall iron gates creaked open, he stepped into the grounds. The estate was quiet—too quiet—like a deep breath held too long. The manicured gardens were still asleep, their hedges and fountains frozen in place as the scent of winter hung in the air. It wasn’t his first time here, but each visit felt like stepping into another world. The Baroness’s domain was carefully curated, every inch exuding wealth and power, the kind that lingered in silence rather than in noise.

The house itself stood like a fortress, its stone façade draped in ivy, with windows that gazed down like watchful eyes. No servants were visible, but Chance knew they were watching from the shadows, their presence barely noticeable. It was the kind of place where nothing was left to chance—every detail accounted for, every move anticipated.

As he walked up the steps to the main entrance, the door swung open just before he could knock, as if the Baroness herself had been expecting him. Charles, the ever-present butler, was standing there, his stiff demeanor unchanged from before.

“Chance Everston,” he said, his voice polite but distant. “The Baroness is expecting you.”

Chance nodded in acknowledgment, stepping inside. The air was warm here, the scent of incense and freshly polished wood filling his senses. The hallway stretched long before him, tapestries lining the walls depicting scenes of battles and victories long past. Everything about the place whispered of history, wealth, and authority.

Charles led him through the maze of corridors, finally stopping at a set of double doors that opened into a room filled with soft light and a distant, lingering melody—a music box, perhaps, playing in the background. The Baroness was seated by a grand fireplace, her silhouette regal in the flickering flame’s light. Her eyes, sharp as ever, turned to meet his gaze as he stepped inside.

“Chance,” she greeted, her voice like velvet, smooth and dangerous. She didn’t rise, but the weight of her presence filled the room. “I trust you’ve had a pleasant night’s rest since you returned?”

Chance gave her a small, polite nod, though his eyes were focused on the crystal decanter sitting on the table before her—empty. It didn’t take much to read between the lines. She had been waiting for this conversation.

“I have,” he replied, crossing the room and taking a seat across from her, close enough to feel the warmth from the fire. “But there are matters we need to discuss.”

Her gaze flickered to the window, where the first rays of the sun were beginning to break through, casting a golden light across her face. She was playing the game again. The same game she always did. And Chance was caught in the middle of it.

She said, “I want to thank you for chasing that evil phantasm away. What of the idol?”

I noted she down played that she was in death hands when I chased away the phantasm. Straight to the point of power

Chance leaned back slightly, his fingers tapping the arm of the chair, and met her gaze with a steady look. There was no need to respond immediately to her polite thanks. It was always the same with her—a mask of gratitude layered over something far more calculating.

“The idol,” he repeated, his tone measured, as he took a moment to study her expression. “It was lost during the pursuit. I’m afraid the phantasm was too quick. But as you can see, I didn’t leave empty-handed.”

He let the silence stretch, waiting for the Baroness’s reaction. Her eyes narrowed imperceptibly, but she didn’t flinch. She was used to this dance. She’d heard worse news, and yet, the air around her grew colder, as though the tension between them were something tangible.

She didn’t acknowledge the risk he’d taken, nor did she seem particularly moved by the fact that the phantasm had nearly claimed her life. Instead, her sharp gaze remained focused on him as if she were evaluating the situation.

“Understand this, Chance,” she said softly, her voice both soothing and dangerous, “I don’t care about excuses. What I care about is results.” Her lips curled into a smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You’ve delivered before. I expect no less now.”

Chance’s mouth twitched upward, though the smile never quite reached his eyes. He’d known it was coming. The Baroness always got to the heart of things, bypassing pleasantries with the sharpness of a blade.

“So you’re interested in more than just the idol,” he remarked. “You want something else.”

She nodded, her fingers lightly tapping the rim of her empty glass. “Indeed. I want what was promised.” Her gaze flickered to the space between them, then back to him. “The godling, Chance. You may have grown… attached,” she said the words slowly, savoring them as if testing the weight of them, “but it is time for you to fulfill your end of the arrangement.”

Chance’s heart skipped a beat, but his expression remained neutral. The subtle thread of her words tangled around him, a reminder of what she had initially hired him to do—and of the dangerous dance he’d been caught in since.

“And what makes you think I’ll let go of him?” His voice was low, calm, yet there was a firmness beneath it. Ordazar wasn’t a mere prize or trophy to be handed over.

The Baroness’s smile didn’t fade, but there was a sharpness to it now, like a blade in the darkness. “Because,” she said, almost as an afterthought, “you know the cost of defying me.”

Her words hung in the air like a storm cloud.

“Ordazar,” I said, “is not a child to be dominated. He is a god. The decision is his, not ours.”

Chance’s voice was calm but firm, each word like a carefully placed stone in a wall he was building between himself and the Baroness.

“Ordazar,” I said, my gaze unwavering, “is not a child to be dominated. He is a god. The decision is his, not ours.”

The silence that followed was thick, like the moment before a storm. He could feel the tension building, a quiet war waging in the space between them. The Baroness’s eyes flashed briefly, her lips pressing into a thin line as if tasting the weight of his defiance.

For a moment, she said nothing, studying him as though weighing the consequences of his words. When she spoke again, her voice had lost none of its edge, though there was a coolness to it now, as if she were recalculating her approach.

“You may think you have some say in the matter,” she replied, her words deliberate, “but remember, Chance, the godling is a tool, and tools can be used—or discarded—depending on the needs of the wielder.”

Chance leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. His voice was steady, but a fire burned beneath it.

“If you think you can control him,” he said, “you’re mistaken. I will not be part of that game. Whatever you think you can do, whatever power you think you hold over me… It won’t work.”

The Baroness’s smile returned, though this time it was colder, sharper. “We’ll see,” she murmured, before standing and turning toward the window. “We’ll see.”

Chance remained still, every instinct telling him this was far from over—but the stakes had shifted. And now, he had to decide what he was willing to risk.

“I will go back and explain this to Ordazar and see what he does,” I said.

The Baroness didn’t turn back to face him. Instead, she kept her gaze on the city beyond, the golden morning light casting long shadows across the parlor.

“Do that,” she said, her voice smooth as glass. “And let’s hope he makes the right choice.”

Chance didn’t need to ask what she meant. The veiled threat in her tone was clear—Ordazar was a god, yes, but he was also vulnerable. And the Baroness wasn’t a woman who accepted disappointment lightly.

He stood, adjusting his coat, letting the weight of the moment settle. There was no point in pressing the matter further—not here, not now. The next move belonged to Ordazar.

But as he stepped toward the door, he felt the Baroness’s gaze flicker back to him, just for a second. Calculating. Measuring.

She was already planning her next step.

And Chance had the sinking feeling that time was running out.