Regulus slumped against the alley wall, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Blood dripped from at least three fresh wounds, mixing with the grime of the cobblestones. His stolen shortsword trembled in his grip—his arms burned from exertion, his legs shook, and his ribs ached with every inhale.
Nyx, meanwhile, looked like she'd just returned from a pleasant shopping trip.
She dropped the massive bundle she'd been carrying with a soft thud, then stretched her arms with a satisfied sigh. "Ahhh, nothing like a successful heist to get the blood pumping!"
Regulus glared at the bundle. "What... did you even... take?"
With a flourish, Nyx untied the knot—revealing an absurd pile of plush pillows and thick woolen blankets.
Regulus blinked.
Then blinked again.
"You—" His voice cracked. "You risked our lives... for bedding?"
Nyx plopped down onto the nearest pillow, sinking into it with a contented hum. "Not just bedding. Quality bedding. These are Altenan goose-down, you philistine." She patted the stack beside her. "And before you complain—yes, I got some for you too."
Regulus opened his mouth—then closed it. The realization that she'd hauled this ridiculous haul for him too sent an odd warmth creeping up his neck. He scowled to hide it. "We're on the run. These will get ruined in a week."
Nyx waved a hand. "Then we'll steal more."
As Regulus massaged his temples—wondering if the kobold venom was affecting his brain—Nyx casually reached into her cloak and produced a small, leather-bound book.
"Oh, and this." She tossed it at him.
Regulus caught it on reflex. The cover was unmarked, but the pages hummed with a faint, unnatural warmth. His fingers tingled where they touched the spine.
"A grimoire?"
Nyx smirked. "Consider it a consolation prize for your whining."
Regulus' face burned hotter. "I wasn't—"
"Uh-oh." Nyx's head snapped up, her playful demeanor vanishing in an instant. Her shadow coiled tight around her ankles. "We've got company."
Down the alley, the distant clank of armored boots echoed.
Regulus groaned. "You said we lost them!"
Nyx was already gathering up the pillows. "I lied! Now grab your blanket and run!"
The armored boots grew louder.
Regulus didn't think—he moved.
One arm hooked under Nyx's knees, the other behind her shoulders, lifting her and her mountain of stolen bedding in a single heave. She let out an undignified yelp as he took off down the alley, the grimoire clutched tight in her hands.
"Since when can you lift this much?!" Nyx demanded, her voice bouncing with each of his strides.
"Twelve points in Strength," Regulus gritted out.
Behind them, the Altenan pursuers rounded the corner.
Nyx, despite being carried like a sack of very indignant potatoes, twisted in his arms to face their pursuers. She raised her voice, theatrical and bright:
"Behold! The legendary Phantom Thieves!" A dramatic pause. "Who steal from the rich—" She patted the pillows. "—for ourselves!"
Regulus nearly tripped. "That's not how the saying goes—"
"Details!" Nyx waved a hand. Then, to the Altenans: "Tell your bosses their pillows are fabulous!"
A crossbow bolt whizzed past her ear.
Nyx's grin turned razor-sharp. "Oh, now they're mad."
The first fireball exploded against the alley wall, showering them in sparks and shattered brick.
Regulus barely dodged, his arms tightening around Nyx and her ridiculous haul of pillows. "They can cast while chasing?!"
Nyx, still cradled like a particularly troublesome bride, smirked. "Obviously. Did you think Altena's Blessed were just swinging swords around?"
Another spell ignited—this one crackling with violet lightning. The air hummed as it arced toward them.
Regulus' lungs burned. His legs screamed. His arms ached from the combined weight of Nyx, the pillows, and the damned grimoire.
I need to—
Another fireball grazed Regulus' shoulder—not enough to burn, just enough to make his skin prickle with heat.
His arms tensed around Nyx instinctively, and immediately his muscles itched, that familiar crawling discomfort spreading from his biceps to his wrists.
Wrong.
He forced himself to loosen his grip slightly. The itching faded.
Another spell—this one crackling with violet lightning—sizzled past as he adjusted his stance.
"Stop flinching," Nyx muttered, her voice bouncing with each stride. "You're making the pillows slip."
Regulus' breath came in ragged gasps. His ribs ached with each inhale—
—then itched beneath his sternum.
Wrong.
He exhaled sharply through his nose, letting his next inhale come slower, deeper. The discomfort eased. His strides lengthened.
The Altenan mages gained ground.
A new sensation—this time in his calves. A persistent, prickling wrongness with each footfall.
Too heavy. Too slow.
He adjusted, shifting his weight forward onto the balls of his feet. The itching faded. His pace quickened.
Nyx's eyebrows rose as the distance between them and their pursuers stabilized. "Huh. You're learning."
Numquam Itineris answered before he finished the thought.
And his body obeyed.
The discomfort in his chest eased as his breathing deepened. His footfalls lightened, each step more efficient than the last. The next fireball missed by inches—not luck, but correction.
Nyx whistled. "Look at you, adapting like a proper little monster."
Another spell—ice, this time—shattered against the ground where Regulus' feet would have been if not for the skill's guidance.
He didn't have breath to spare for words. Every ounce of focus went into:
Dodging the spells
Running without tiring
Holding on to Nyx and their haul
Regulus skidded across the spice merchant's flour-dusted floor, Nyx's ridiculous pillow haul still secured in her arms like oversized balloons. The moment they crashed through the back door into the alley, his calves itched.
Wrong angle.
He pivoted left—just as a lightning spell shattered the doorframe where they'd been.
"Oho!" Nyx cackled, clinging to his neck as they burst into the next building—a tanner's workshop. The stench of curing hides hit like a physical blow. "Now this is what I call—"
Regulus didn't let her finish. He was already ducking under drying racks, the itch in his shoulders telling him to drop lower a heartbeat before an ice crystal impaled the wall where his head had been.
Three more buildings. Five more near-misses.
The weaver's loft (where Nyx accidentally kicked over dye vats to create a crimson smoke screen)
The blacksmith's coal shed (Regulus' stolen sword itched to parry a stray spell—and somehow did)
The abandoned magistrate's office (where Nyx's shadow finally, finally flicked the deadbolt shut behind them)
Silence.
Then—
"Ahem." The elderly scribe at the desk lowered his spectacles, staring at their singed clothes, bloodied pillows, and the now violently pulsing grimoire. "You're tracking in... everything."
Nyx beamed. "Marvelous observation!" She plopped a single, slightly charred pillow onto his desk. "For your trouble."
Regulus wheezed against the wall, his entire body one giant ache. "We... will probably be blacklisted... by all the merchants here... though... Lady Nyx."
She patted his heaving chest. "Nonsense! We've given them stories." A beat. "Also, that pillow was worth six months of his salary."
Outside, the distant shouts of frustrated mages echoed.
The scribe sighed, opened a hidden panel beneath his desk, and gestured to the tunnel beyond. "Go. Before you explode in my workplace."
"Thank you sir!" Regulus exclaimed, dashing towards the tunnel under Nyx's approval.