Chapter 9: The Capital’s Secrets

Solmaris.

The capital of the human kingdom. A sprawling city of towering spires, fortified walls, and streets woven with a mix of opulence and decay. It was a place of power, where nobles played their games, scholars pursued forbidden knowledge, and mercenaries thrived in the shadows.

And somewhere within its walls, someone had access to my work.

The journey from Bellmare to Solmaris took nearly two days. Ryn had secured a carriage, and while it was far from luxurious, it beat walking. The road stretched ahead, winding through rolling plains before giving way to the first signs of civilization—farms, trade outposts, and finally, the outer slums of Solmaris.

The moment we passed through the gates, I felt it.

The weight of the city’s presence.

It wasn’t just the sheer size or the noise—it was the underlying tension. Solmaris had always been a city of ambition, but now, something felt… off.

The guards at the entrance were more alert than usual. Merchants moved quickly, their eyes wary. And the streets, though bustling, carried an air of quiet caution.

Something was happening here.

We disembarked near the Southern Ward, one of the older districts, where inns and taverns catered to travelers. Ryn led the way to a familiar establishment—The Gilded Fox, a place he claimed had “decent ale and terrible decisions.”

Inside, the air was thick with smoke and the scent of spiced meat. Conversations hummed around us, blending into the clatter of mugs and dice.

We found a table near the back, and Ryn leaned in. “Alright. We need to find Valcairn.”

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Lena crossed her arms. “And how exactly do you plan to do that? He’s nobility. We can’t just knock on his door.”

“We don’t have to,” I said. “If he’s lost his fortune, he’ll be desperate. Desperate people make mistakes.”

Ryn smirked. “Which means we wait for him to crawl into a gambling den or sell off another relic.”

Lena sighed. “Great. More waiting.”

I opened the grimoire, flipping back to the corrupted formula. The notation still stared at me, taunting me with its familiarity.

I traced the margins with my finger. Who are you?

Whoever had written this understood my system. They knew how magic truly functioned in this world—not just through instinct or talent, but through the precise application of physics, mathematics, and theory.

It was one thing for mages to learn spells from books. It was another thing entirely to understand the underlying structure of magic.

If this person was in Solmaris, I needed to find them.

And I needed to know if they were friend or foe.

The first night passed in restless silence. Ryn and Lena took turns keeping watch while I pored over the grimoire, trying to piece together the inconsistencies in the formula.

By morning, we had our first lead.

“Valcairn was seen near the House of Duskwind two nights ago,” Ryn said over breakfast.

Lena frowned. “That’s an auction house.”

“Not just any auction house,” I murmured. “It’s where nobles sell off their secrets.”

Artifacts, enchanted weapons, rare texts—if Valcairn had been there, he was either trying to buy something or, more likely, selling off the last of his collection.

Which meant we had a window of opportunity.

By dusk, we found ourselves outside Duskwind’s estate—a lavish building with blackened glass and golden lanterns lining the entrance. The auction was invitation-only, but that didn’t stop us.

Ryn, ever the expert at infiltration, had acquired a set of invitations. We blended in easily, dressed in borrowed finery. I tugged at the collar of my borrowed coat, feeling out of place.

Inside, the room buzzed with conversation. Chandeliers cast a warm glow over rows of seating, where merchants and nobles eyed the stage with greedy anticipation.

A man in elaborate robes took the stage. “Welcome, esteemed guests. Tonight, we present artifacts of the highest value—treasures of history, power, and mystery.”

One by one, items were brought forth—enchanted daggers, relics of lost civilizations, forbidden texts. But I was waiting for one name.

And then, I heard it.

“From the esteemed collection of Lord Valcairn, we present an original manuscript on advanced magical theory.”

I tensed.

A book was placed on the pedestal. Bound in dark leather, its edges worn with age.

The auctioneer continued, “This manuscript contains theories on magic never before seen—formulas and equations that may redefine our understanding of spellcasting.”

I clenched my fists.

I knew that book.

I had written it.

Not as a final draft, but as a collection of notes—early theories I had compiled before fully developing the grimoire system.

Someone had found my lost notes.

And now they were selling them to the highest bidder.

Lena whispered, “What’s wrong?”

I exhaled sharply. “We need that book.”

Ryn smirked. “Good thing we brought money.”

But I wasn’t planning to buy it.

I was planning to take it back—no matter what it cost.