Hidials—sounds simple, right? Wrong. You’d think after survivirayal, reination, and Fae nightmares, I’d be a master of clever solutions, but no. Here I was, standing knee-deep in river muck, trying to figure out where to stash my loot like some Stone Age dragon with h issues.

  The cave wasn’t an option. Too many eyes, too many curious fingers and questions. "Hey, Anir, where’d you get all this shiny stuff?” Yeah, no thanks. I needed a spot that was close, discreet, and absolutely idiot-proof.

  I’d keep just enough metal to craft tools and cast spells, but the rest—the real treasure—I’d hide.

  As I sed the riverbank my eyes nded on the rge rocks scattered along the riverbank, inspiration struck: the rocks. Big, dumb, immovable rocks. Perfect. There were plenty of them scattered around the river, and no one would think to cheside a rock. Mostly because, well, rocks are solid. But I had a solution for that little problem.

  I picked a hefty boulder he water, the kind that screamed “don’t mess with me,” and pulled out a small of gold. Yes, mold. My heart winced every time I used it, but desperate times.

  I cast aal trol spell, my aura humming with effort. Slowly, I coaxed the ioo liquefy, its softer yers flowing out like a slow-motion volo. The molten stone poured into the river, hissing as it hit the water and sinking deep into the riverbed to solidify.

  When the dust—or, rather, the sludge—settled, I had a hollowed-out rock, big enough to stash my metal haul.

  Carefully, I pced my preotherlode inside, keeping only two fist-sized gold s for crafting and spellwork. “You stay safe in there, my shiny little fortune,” I muttered, sealing the rock with another yer of magic.

  Stepping back, I admired my handiwork. A secret stash in pin sight. Now, if only I could hide my paranoia as well as I hid my gold.

  There was still spaside the hollowed-out rock, and the day wasn’t over. What kind of hoarder would I be if I didn’t fill it to the brim? Gold was handled, but iron—oh, iron—was on my list. Fae hate it, and I love anything the Fae hate.

  So, like before, I anchored my spell to gold to search for iron. As the spell activated, I felt a pang of loss. One eye-sized gold , shining in its i glory, began to erode before my eyes, ed by the spell. "Goodbye, little buddy," I muttered dramatically. "Your sacrifice won’t be in vain."

  The spell worked like a charm—well, more like an expensive charm—but it worked. Bit by bit, the riverbed surres iron. I watched as the raw material coalesced into seven iron balls, each weighing about five kilograms. My aura buzzed faintly from the strain, but there they were: orbs of Fae-repellent justice.

  “Seven iron balls,” I said aloud, my voice eg faintly. “I’m basically the god of bowling now.” To make my life easier I formed some of the iron into s to keep and use.

  Back at the rock, I carefully tucked the iron balls into my stash. I might’ve even hummed a lulby while doing it. There was something oddly satisfying about hiding these dangerous, world-ging resources like they were fragile dragon eggs.

  With the iroled safely beside the gold, I sealed the rock again with a whispered spell. Stepping back, I admired my work. My hidden treasure chest was ing along nicely.

  “Now,” I said to the rock, patting it lightly, “you keep this stuff safe, or I’m ing back with a hammer and a bad attitude.”

  The day had barely begun, but the sun dipped lower in the sky, I turoward the forest for food, my bag is lighter but my spirit a little heavier. Gold, iron, paranoia—what a life.

  I walked for less then five mihen crouched in the bushes, pnning my ambush on pigeons of all things. Mighty Anir, prince reinated, wielder of a magid dreams of power… reduced to hunting for flying rats. Glorious.

  I adjusted the sling on my wrist, its leather cool against my skin, and sed the skies with the seriousness of a general surveying a battlefield. Pigeons. Fast, dumb, and utterly unaware of their impending doom.

  “Alright, you feathery freeloaders,” I muttered under my breath, “time to pay your rent.”

  I reached into my pouch, pulling out a small obsidia—because when you’ve got obsidian lying around, you make ons out of it, even feons. These pellets where ented even if I miss the spell passing near its target will make the small-miarget lose sciousness et fused for moment.

  My aura hummed faintly as I charged the pellet, just enough to give it extra speed and accuracy without making it glow like a miniature sun. o advertise my pns to the world.

  I spotted my first target perched on a low branch, peg obliviously at something. I lined up my shot, carefully pulled back the sling, and released. The pellet zipped through the air, silent and deadly.

  Thunk. Feathers exploded everywhere. Success!

  I jogged over to collect my prize, tug the bird into my bag. It wasn’t much, but hey, pigeons tasted better than they looked. As I reset my sling, a sed pigeon fluttered down nearby. “Oh, look, a volunteer,” I said with a grin.

  The hunt tinued. By the time I had six pigeons on my shoulder ly tied bundle, I was feeling like the king of Stone Age pest trol. “Move over, legendary beasts,” I muttered. “I’m the sce of pigeons now.”

  On my way back, I couldn’t help but smirk. The others would probably scoff at my catch, but they’d all be fighting for a piece when it was roasted. Let them ugh. A prince does what’s necessary. Even if it means pigeon duty.

  And with that my day was over, I have food, my treasure was safe—tucked away in a hollowed rock fortress where no one, human or otherwise, would think to look. Uhe Fae suddenly developed the ability to liquefy stone. Nah, even they don’t have that kind of panache. Probably.

  But then again... paranoia has a way of crawling up your spine, whispering sweet nothings about doom in your ear. My paranoia wasn’t whispering anymore—it was wide awake, tapping me on the shoulder and screaming, “They’re watg you!”

  So, I did what any reasonable, magic-wielding reinated prince would do. I hexed the whole damn area.

  With a pouch of iron dust in hand, I stomped around the riverbank, sprinkling the stuff like ahusiastic chef seasoning a cursed soup. “Get some, you creepy little bastards,” I muttered under my breath.

  Each handful of iron dust ersonal insult to the Fae. “Oh, you like sneaking around in shadows? Here’s a taste of what happens when you mess with me!” Sprinkle. “You think you’re all mysterious ahereal? Boom! Iron! Deal with it!” Sprinkle.

  By the time I was dohe area ractically glowing with tent hostility. My iron hexes hummed faintly, f an invisible barrier that I hoped would keep the Fae at bay—or at least give them a nasty burn if they got too curious.

  “sider this my way of saying screw you to our delightful neighbors,” I said, brushing the st of the iron dust off my hands. “Let’s see you prance around this, you shadow-hopping assholes.”

  With the sun beginning to set, I felt a little better. Not safe—never safe—but better. As I turned back toward the cave, I couldn’t help but grin. If nothing else, I’d given the Fae something to think about tonight.

  On my way back to the cave, the golden and iron ucked safely in my pack, I decided to have a little fun with the local Fae. Sure, they’re terrifying, ing, soul-sug monsters, but they’ve got one big weakness—iron. And I’ve got a handful of iron s that I’d been itg to put to good use.

  As I trudged through the forest, I flicked the s one by oo the underbrush like some demented fairy tale vilin scattering breadcrumbs. Only my breadcrumbs were hexed with a nasty little spell desigo sihe Fae if they got too curious.

  “Here, have a , you creepy bastards,” I muttered, tossing one near a tree stump. “Go buy yourself a sense of decy.”

  Another went spinning into a cluster of ferns. “And here’s one for your therapy fund. Trust me, you .”

  By the time I reached the cave’s edge, I’d formed a rough perimeter of hexed s around the area. It wasn’t a perfect defense, but it would slow them down if they got any ideas about sneaking in tonight. Besides, the thought of a Fae stepping on one of my ented s and yelping like a scalded dog was far too satisfying to pass up.

  As I approached the cave, I gave the st a little extra spin before it nded in the dirt. “Let’s see how you like this game, you shadow-hopping pricks.”

  The faint glow of the hexed pulsed once before fading, its spell dormant but ready. I grio myself, feeling a flicker of pride. Sometimes, the simplest solutions are the most effective.

  “Pytime’s over, folks. The cave is closed for business.” I muttered under my breath, stepping io prepare for whatever nightmare the night would bring.