“New ones?” Kien’s haunted gaze bore into Arwin. “What do you mean? How is that possible? Do you know of the dagger used to steal my powers?” “No,” Arwin admitted with a shake of his head. “I’ve never heard of such a weapon. I have absolutely no idea how magic like that would function, much less how to actually repair the damage. But you came to a smith, didn’t you?” “A weapon. You want to make me a weapon?” “The tone of your voice seems to imply you aren’t too thrilled with the offer.” “I need more power than any mere sword could ever give me,” Kien said. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Do you understand what was taken from me? Years of work and blood and sweat, all for nothing. My strength is gone. And you want to replace that with a mere blade? I appreciate your offer, smith. It is kind — but it is not sufficient.” Arwin wasn’t offended by the man’s outburst. Instead, a small smile tugged at his lips. “I think you may be underestimating the strength of what I am capable of making. I do not make mere weapons.” “I do not doubt the quality of your craftsmanship, smith. But my opponent is my own blood. Hein stole my power from me, but he will not be satisfied. He will seek more strength. More will suffer because of my failings. I must stop him.” “Your failings?” Lillia asked, holding a hand up. “What do you mean? You said you were stabbed in the back. You can’t be blaming yourself for that… unless something else happened?” “I was stabbed in the back, but only because I turned a blind eye to what should have been obvious.” Kien’s eyes tore away from them and he stared down at the table before him. “I knew my brother coveted my power. I thought he had gotten over it. That he was interested in simply being who we were when we were children. Brothers. But I was wrong. I handed him the power he sought, and he will use that strength to take more and more. It is my duty to put that to an end. I trust you can see why a glowing sword will not be sufficient to stop the strength of a former hero.” Lillia and Arwin exchanged a glance. The world around them seemed to fall away and Arwin found his hand tightening on the wooden table. Hold on. A hero stabbed by a weapon that took their powers, returning them to their state before they got a class? One where the victim kept all of their Titles? I’ve heard this story before. Arwin’s skin prickled like someone had poured ice water over his back. Our weapons. I don’t know every enchantment my sword had, and it’s possible to hide magic from even a weapon’s wielder. I did it for Melissa… so someone else could do it to me. Our classes didn’t just evaporate. They were stolen… but something gave them back to us. The gem? The explosion? The achievement? The Mesh itself? But Lillia and I weren’t the guild’s first time doing this. How many other people have gotten their magic stolen before they got killed and silenced? And what the fuck is the guild doing with this stolen magic? “What is it?” Kien asked. “I don’t want your pity. You don’t have to look at me like—” “It’s not you,” Arwin said. He ripped himself from his thoughts and met Kien’s eyes. The Arwin saw was teetering on the brink of shattering. He was an inch from broken — but he wasn’t gone. Not yet. The Guild had tried to remove him from the playing board. And, if anything, that was the best possible way to vouch for someone’s character. If the Guild didn’t want them around… he did. “Then what?” Kien asked. “Why are you looking at me like that?” “Old memories,” Arwin replied. “And I was mistaken.” “I said the only thing I could do was make you a weapon. I was wrong.” “There’s nothing to fix. You’re a clean slate. Wiped blank and ready to start anew — but I can give you more than just a little of a head start,” Arwin replied. Magic prickled in his chest and bubbled up through his throat, seeping into his words seemingly of its own volition. He did nothing to stop it. A faint wind picked up around Arwin. Magic coursed through his body and a tremor took grip in the ground, causing the cutlery on the tables around them to rattle and bounce. Kien rose from his chair, nearly tripping over it as he took several steps back. “What is this magic? I thought you were a smith!” Motes of golden energy gathered in the air. They danced like tiny fireflies, swirling in the wind and growing brighter with every passing second. The magic caught in Arwin’s mouth, hanging at the tip of his tongue like a forgotten word. Then it spilled forth. “I can’t get you your old class back, but I can do you one better. I suppose it might be construed as paying forward a favor that someone else did for me,” Arwin said. “Nobody can really give you power, but I can certainly open the path for you.” “The path?” Kien asked, but even as the question left his mouth, his eyes narrowed. “Never mind. I don’t care. If you have something that will help, then I accept. I don’t care what the cost is. I must become strong enough to end this before it can go any farther.” “Then you will need to find a Class.” All the energy in the air drove into Arwin’s words. They left his mouth like crashing rivers of melted gold.