From the transcript of the interrogation of Florian Quinn by the Academy Prime: “Tell you about Talia Vansaghe? This is the first time I’m hearing her last name if that tells you anything about the nature of our relationship, sir.”

  “Hey!” Florian yelled. “Stop! What the fuck are you doing?!”

  In that moment Florian didn’t give a shiny Wylderwynd donkey’s rear end if he woke the whole castle screaming after this guy. He’d rather face the wrath of the Prime himself than lose the Pure to a thief.

  The guy heard Florian and started tugging on the lead rope he’d tied around the Pure. His desperation to escape increased with every long step Florian took, tugs moving to strong tugs to pulls to yanks to a violent, two-handed thrusting of the rope, the thief’s forearms sliding the sleeves of his cloak down, veins engaged to bursting.

  The Wylderwynd Pure resisted, instinctively understanding that this person meant only harm. Florian would have time to admire the animal’s majesty later. Now, he needed to catch up. Despite the Pure’s resistance, the thief began the chase with a substantial head start and despite Florian’s charge the castle gate could be seen in greater detail with every step.

  Suddenly, the thief began yelling.

  “He’s shouting to people beyond the gate!” Madeline called in a determined voice. “Hurry! If you’re faster, go! Go!”

  Florian sped ahead, gaining on the thief evermore with Madeline yipping at his heels.

  The thief turned and exposed his face for the first time. Up close Florian took stock of him; a shorter man with angular features and especially thick eyebrows that nearly touched at the center to form a singular eyebrow. He looked back and forth between Florian, the Pure and the gate then he did it again.

  Then he grunted and abandoned the lead rope of the Pure who stopped in his tracks at once. The thief ran toward the gate but Florian was hot on his heels, taller than the thief and closing quickly with much longer strides.

  “Florian! He’s got a knife!” Madeline cried out from behind him right as the guy reached into his clothes and brandished the silver handled knife in front of him. He backed away but his gambit worked to slow Florian who stalked him, one threatening step after another. He’d successfully found a way to prevent the Pure from its fate but now he wanted the thief.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Florian said in a voice that he hoped projected a confidence he didn’t fully feel. He didn’t expect a response.

  The thief kept backing up, faster and faster, boots thundering across the Academy lawn as fast as his legs would take him backwards but it became clear he’d never make the exit before Florian caught up.

  So he did the only logical thing.

  He turned around, took stock of the entrance then faced Florian with a sneer, brandishing his knife.

  Florian skidded to a stop, well outside the range of the knife that looked more menacing then moments before now that it glinted in the moonlight.

  The rush of confidence Florian felt - the foolish excitement of a young man - evaporated once he took stock of the situation unfolding in front of him. Despite being the larger man by a head and a half, against a knife that large, his size would only count when being measured for a coffin.

  “Caught you,” Florian lowered his voice to a menacing tenor, his best menacing tenor. In truth, he imitated the voice he’d heard from his father countless times when the old man demanded obedience and nothing else.

  “Pretty boy Quinn, we know all about you,” the thief fired back in an equally menacing voice.

  Madeline caught up, holding her copper glove talisman in her hand. “He’s not that pretty,” she said.

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  “And you should have kept running,” Florian added.

  The Grinnrocker’s addition changed the thief’s calculus, especially since she ensured her talisman would be visible. For all the thief knew, Madeline could cast.

  Wait, could she cast? The Death Dealer lessons earlier in the day began and ended specifically without the use of practicing magic. Wouldn’t it be the same for the Warriors?

  The ivory skull talisman of the Death Dealers hung loosely around Florian’s neck on a chain and Florian made an exaggerated show of touching it. For intimidation purposes, or something.

  Presumably, he didn’t need to be holding the skull in his hands to cast, but the instructions from the morning lesson indicated focusing the magic would be easier at the start if he did. It was the same thing with hand motions. Using hand motions weren’t strictly necessary, but plenty of Dealers used what felt natural to them. For some, it helped focus the energy. For others, the repetition of the motion helped with their consistency when casting.

  Their intimidation tactic cowed the thief back a step, though he held his knife with his elbow bent, just in case. He didn’t stop his taunting though.

  “Who might you be, little Grinnrocker? Not as pretty as your friend but you’d fetch a pretty price on the open market now, oh yes. You’d be quite the prize, I say. I could run a bidding war for a Grinnrock girl who’s built like you-,”

  Florian’s eyes bulged before interrupting the thief. “Shut the fuck up! You’d die before you got within five feet of her!”

  He’d stepped forward without noticing but the thief had also inched closer to the exit.

  “Aw, isn’t that cute,” the thief taunted, continuing to inch closer to the carved stonework arch. He’d have to make a break for it soon. He’d have to. “The disgraced Quinn heir has a schoolboy crush on the girl. You know he’s got no money or title anymore, don’t you? Aw, don’t tell me you don’t know? See, his father disowned his firstborn son here and now his brother is the heir to the Quinn fortune. You can do better, love, with a body like that I tell ya…” More taunts, more inches toward escape.

  Florian paled. How did this person know so much about him?

  “Flo!” A voice from behind shouted. “You found the horse! Fuck yeah, dude!”

  Lane.

  The call from his friend set off the thief’s escape to the detriment of Florian. The thief spun the knife in his hand and reared back onto his right leg, winding up the throw with his right hand. Like a spring releasing its payload, the thief released the knife.

  Onto a collision course with the space between Florian’s eyes.

  Madeline’s eyes went wide and she swung her hand, the copper talisman held close. Before Florian knew what happened, a shimmering rectangle twice the size of him appeared between him and the knife. The rectangle didn’t stop the knife but it did slow its pace, and most importantly, it changed its trajectory.

  Right toward the Pure.

  Talia screamed when the knife penetrated horse flesh. Yet it must not have hit deeply, as it clattered to the ground. The Pure reared back, whinnying in a mixture of pain and irritation, a trickle of blood coating the gleaming white of its right flank. Lane, aware, somehow found the lead rope and attempted to settle the beast, succeeding as much as a fly could settle a snake. Talia ran to Madeline. Florian ran to the Pure.

  The thief ran away.

  It took both Lane and Florian several minutes to calm the great big horse, eventually talking the thing down, promising extra treats and an extra brushing once they made it back to the stables. It seemed to understand.

  The wound that had so angered it seemed like a simple flesh puncture and not anything that would stop the Pure for even a second. Talia inspected it with inexpert eyes, and they led the Pure around in a circle to test if it had any deleterious effects of the knife. All seemed normal.

  “I’ll tell Earl,” Lane said, breaking the silence.

  “Huh?” Florian replied.

  “About the stab wound. Even if we could somehow hide the fucking thing the last thing I want is for it to get infected and then it’ll be goodnight Pure. Permanently. Can’t be having that.”

  Florian agreed. “You sure?”

  Lane nodded. “It’s my fault he got out, my responsibility.”

  “I’ll go with him,” Talia volunteered.

  “You don’t have to do that,” Lane protested.

  Talia wouldn’t hear of it. “You weren’t the only one who contributed to the mess we currently find ourselves in, Lane Jones, and I’m not going to let you take the whole blame for something you only had a part of. I’m going.”

  “Did she just last name you?” Florian whispered to Lane who smiled.

  “I think she just last named me,” Lane agreed. “Shouldn’t have told her my full name. Seemed like the right thing to do at the time but now I see the error of my ways.”

  “Women,” Florian laughed.

  “Women,” Lane repeated, raising his voice to tease Talia, bringing some much needed levity to the situation. “Come on then, Talia Vansaghe, let’s go take our lumps.” He winced. “Maybe stand behind me when we tell Earl. He looks like a spitter.”

  Lane grabbed the rope, said a short goodbye to Florian and an even shorter goodbye to Madeline then they left.

  “Hey, you okay?” Florian asked Madeline who had a strange expression on her face. She had inched forward toward the gate and rather than stare right at it, she’d turned slightly so Florian could see the side of her face. “Madeline?”

  She seemed to sigh. “No, I’m not. The adrenaline is wearing off. I feel weird. I’m dizzy. I-I need your help.”

  ?? Even gods need to be held sometimes

  What to Expect:

  - An epic, multi-book space opera with a large found family and multiple POVs.

  - A powerful but emotionally vulnerable protagonist with chaotic powers he struggles to control.

  - Strong, capable, and sometimes morally gray women.

  - High stakes, cosmic threats, and detailed world-building.

  What NOT to Expect:

  - LitRPG/System elements

  - Lone wolf power fantasy

  - A story that is only about romance

  This story contains mature themes, explicit sexual content, and graphic violence. It is not suitable for readers under the age of 18.

  90+ Chapters in the first month

  500,000+ words already written and backlogged