Lorn Kael's Arc

Chapter 1 of 6

Lorn Kael counted his coins twice, and both times the number frightened him. Enough to buy training mats, blunted swords, and food for twenty broken soldiers. Enough to start the hidden academy he had promised the ruined men and women of the Empire. But every one of those coins came from his years as a spy. And a bounty from those years still hung over his head. Any large purchase would leave a trail. A trail meant a hunter at his gate. He sat in the shadow of the old fort's stone wall, near the weathered spaceport. The wolfhound lay beside him, its dark coat drifting like smoke. Silver hair fell across his scarred face. He had trained the hound himself. It could carry coin across the city and leave no scent, no tracks. But a hound could not spend money at a merchant's stall. A man had to. And the moment a man spent that much, someone would ask where a retired nobody got a fortune. Footsteps clicked on the metal landing. Lorn's hand went to his knife. The old bard came up the ramp, red vest catching the light, white mustache twitching with a grin. Silvain Crescendo. Rich, famous, beloved across the Empire he privately despised. Lorn had asked him here for one reason. "You're late," Lorn said. "I'm rich," Silvain said. "Rich men arrive when they please." He looked at the coin pouch. "So this is the problem. You can't spend it. The bounty smells your face on every purchase." "They're my coins," Lorn said. "My risk." "Your risk kills the school before it opens." Silvain spread his hands. "But no one hunts me. Let me buy your mats. Your food. Your steel. Let the world think the academy belongs to a soft old singer with too much gold and a taste for charity. You stay a ghost. I stay the face." Lorn hated the idea. Handing his purpose to another man. Trusting a stranger's smile. But the bard was right, and both men knew it. Lorn poured the coins into Silvain's open palms. The wolfhound watched, unmoving. "One rule," Lorn said. "You never see the students. You never know their names." "Agreed." Silvain tucked the pouch away. "They'll call it my little hobby. The Empire loves an old fool with soft habits." A new voice cut in. "A hobby needs a permit. I can help with that.” Lena Everly stood at the foot of the ramp in a pressed uniform, one hand offered in welcome, the other holding a small black ledger. She was the city greeter, the first face every newcomer met at the gate. She smiled wide and warm. Then she opened the ledger. "A large charity purchase," she said, pen already moving. "I record everything, sir. It's my job." Her pen scratched. "May I have the buyer's name?" Silvain's grin froze. Lorn's coins were now written down. And the ledger would be read. But it would work.