Chapter. 4 Blasting caps and Black powder.

The dim light of the cell flickered as Avery leaned back against the rough stone wall, her clawed hand tracing the faint outlines of her carving. The multi-headed dragon she’d been working on was nearly complete, the jagged lines catching the shadows and giving it an ominous presence.

“Let me get this straight,” Johan not Wan said, breaking the silence. He sloshed the last bit of ale in his flask before taking a swig, his crooked grin firmly in place. “You’re telling me, in all seriousness, that you ” he paused dramatically, pointing at her with a lazy finger, “as a kid stabbed some dwarf in the face, blinding the poor bastard in one eye.”

Avery didn’t even look up from her carving, her clawed hand idly etching finer details into the multi-headed dragon on the stone wall.

“And,” Johan continued, shaking the flask as if trying to conjure more ale, “that his father went all blood-feud on you. The whole thing kicked off at your home, with his wife who, let’s be honest, sounded like the only sane one trying to stop it. And then, in the middle of all the chaos, he accidentally kills his own wife. And ” he took another swig, now finishing the flask entirely “a mysterious elf woman shows up, ushers you back to your bedroom, and vanishes into thin air.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Am I tracking this right?”

Avery kicked herself off the cot, stretching with a dramatic yawn. “Yeah, sounds about right.”

Johan snorted. “And here I thought I had a messy childhood.”

Ignoring him, Avery flexed her clawed fingers, then casually reached for the cell door. With a quick, deliberate motion, she picked the lock as if it were second nature. The door creaked open.

Johan sat up straight, his flask clinking against the bars as he watched her. “Wait. What are you doing?”

“Be right back,” Avery said over her shoulder, her tone laced with boredom. “I need to piss.”

Johan blinked, then waved her off with a nonchalant shrug. “Fair. I’m gonna get us some grub.” Stretching lazily, he stood and sauntered out of the now-open cell door. “No point sitting around hungry. Oh, and maybe some more booze,” he added, grinning to himself.

As Avery disappeared down the dim hallway, Johan leaned back against the cell bars, scratching his chin thoughtfully. “Between her wild stories, her knack for lock-picking, and those unmistakable ties to her She Who Must Not Be Named I’m starting to think that girl might be the most dangerous one in here,” he muttered under his breath. “Pretty sure there’s magic in her blood, too.”

Shaking his head, he shoved his empty flask into his pocket and set off in the opposite direction, his boots clicking lightly against the stone floor. “Food and drink,” he grumbled. “We’re gonna need both. Especially if she’s about to hit me with more insane stories.”

Sometime later, both Avery and Johan returned to the cell. Avery carried a bundle of old but clean blankets, while Johan, true to form, somehow managed to scrounge up a pile of food and, to Avery’s amusement, yet another stash of alcohol.

The two stepped into the cell with casual ease, as if returning to their quarters after a long day. Avery shut the door behind them with a light push, and Johan made a point of twisting the latch shut. “Wouldn’t want anyone getting suspicious,” he quipped, his grin wide and cheeky.

Avery tossed the blankets onto her cot and flopped down, grabbing one to drape over her legs. “How’d you manage to find more alcohol?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Johan winked as he set the food and bottles down on the small ledge that served as a makeshift table. “It’s a gift. You’ve got claws; I’ve got charm. Everyone’s got their thing.”

Avery snorted, reaching for a piece of bread. “Yeah, sure. Charm.”

“Hey, don’t knock it,” Johan said, settling onto his cot and cracking open a bottle with practiced ease. He took a long swig, then held the bottle aloft in a mock toast. “To life in a cell good company, good booze, and absolutely no judgment.”

Avery chuckled despite herself, raising a hunk of bread in return. “To questionable decisions and even more questionable cellmates.”

They settled into a comfortable silence, each savoring the relative warmth of the blankets and the simple comfort of their shared meal. The flickering light from the corridor outside cast long shadows across the stone walls, catching on the jagged edges of Avery’s dragon carving. For a fleeting moment, the cold reality of the holding cell seemed to fade, replaced by an odd sense of peace.

“You know,” Johan said, breaking the silence, “for someone who’s been through as much as you, you’re holding up pretty damn well.”

Avery glanced at him, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. “You haven’t heard shit yet.”

Johan chuckled, raising his bottle in a lazy toast. “Oh, I’m sure there’s more. With you, there’s always more.”

Avery leaned back against the wall, her green eyes glinting mischievously. “You’d better keep that booze coming, Johan not Juan. You’re gonna need it.

____________________________________________________________________________________

Avery sat in the newly assembled classroom, arms folded, her face set in a firm scowl. Private tutoring had to be better than returning to that other classroom, right? After what happened last week the incident she wasn’t about to walk back into that pit of whispers and stolen glances.

She let her head rest on the desk with a sigh. It was better this way. Fewer people. Less judgment. No more forced kindness from people who didn’t know how to look at her anymore.

Jack, her passing acquaintance maybe even a friend once had stopped by a few times, clearly trying to check in on her. But after the third visit, she stopped letting him in. Even he looked at her differently now. And she hated that.

Then there was Thargrin. He was gone. Shipped off to live with some distant relatives after his father had been jailed and his mother… well, dead. Just like that, his life had unraveled, proving how quickly things could spiral out of control.

Avery sighed again, fingers drumming against the edge of the desk.

"Great. More people to treat me differently."

Her thoughts drifted back to what Harrowmont had said that morning:

"This is for your own good, Avery. You need to keep learning, even if it’s just you and the tutor."

Yeah. Sure. Learning. Like that was the real issue here.

A sudden knock at the door snapped her out of her thoughts. She sat up straighter, bracing herself. Her small hands gripped the edges of her desk as she prepared for yet another stranger to step in, eyes filled with cautious pity, speaking in that same slow, careful tone she was starting to despise.

Here we go. Let’s see what kind of look I get this time.

The door creaked open.

And in stepped the most ridiculous looking man Avery had ever seen.

The door creaked open, and a man stepped into the room. His skin was pale unnaturally so and his dark hair was slicked back with meticulous precision. He was dressed in an actual tuxedo with tails, the kind of ensemble that would have been more at home in a grand ballroom than in a hastily assembled classroom. He wasn’t intimidating exactly, but something about him felt… off. He looked human, but not quite.

Avery couldn’t put her finger on it, but there was an unnatural stillness to him, as though the air around him refused to stir.

“You must be my new pupil,” the man said, his voice smooth and velvety, with just a hint of mischief. He adjusted his cufflinks with exaggerated precision before flashing her a wide grin too wide, with teeth too perfect, like he had stolen them from a porcelain doll.

Before she could respond, he continued as if this was all the most natural conversation in the world. “Did you know a red dragon’s breath can melt through an inch-thick steel plate in under six seconds? Absolutely fascinating, isn’t it?”

Avery blinked. “…Uh, what?”

“And if you mix saltpeter, sulfur, and charcoal,” he went on, completely unfazed, “you can make a really fun powder. But ” he added with a conspiratorial wink "get the ratios wrong, and well… you’ll need new eyebrows.”

On cue, he wiggled his eyebrows. It took Avery a moment to notice something off about them. Her gaze narrowed as she examined his face more closely.

“…Wait,” she said, squinting, “are those fake?”

“Random fact!” he exclaimed cheerfully, spreading his hands as if that somehow explained everything. “A little something to break the ice. I find it helps set the tone.” He paused, tapping his chin in exaggerated thought. “Now, what shall we call me today? Hmm. Let’s go with Maxwell. Yes, Maxwell feels right. Or perhaps Conrad? No, no. Maxwell.”

Avery folded her arms, unimpressed. “You… don’t know your own name?”

“Oh, I know it,” he replied, his grin widening as he perched on the edge of her desk, completely uninvited. “I just don’t use it. Names are like hats one for every occasion.”

Avery stared at him, debating whether she should laugh or bolt out of the room. “…You’re my tutor?”

“Indeed!” Maxwell if that was his name leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice to something almost conspiratorial. “And if I may say so, you are quite the interesting one yourself. But don’t worry.” His grin sharpened. “I don’t bite.”

Avery arched a brow.

Maxwell held up two fingers. “Often.”

Her patience thinned. “Harrowmont sent you?”

"Not just sent me,” Maxwell said, placing a hand over his chest as if he were delivering a soliloquy. "Entrusted me. Apparently, you’re very special. And not just because you’re, well…” He gestured vaguely at her ears. “Half-and-half.”

Avery frowned. “Half-and-half?”

"Elf and human," he clarified as if it were obvious. "The best of both worlds. And also the worst, depending on the day." His tone lightened, his grin returning to full force. "Now, tell me, young Avery. What’s your favorite thing to learn about? And if you say something boring like arithmetic, I may just keel over right here.”

Avery hesitated. She did not trust this man. He was too quick, too unpredictable, and far too comfortable in a room that wasn’t his. But if this was some sort of test, she wasn’t going to fail it.

“…I like building things,” she admitted slowly, watching his reaction. “And figuring out how stuff works.”

Maxwell clapped his hands together. “A tinkerer! Brilliant!” His enthusiasm practically crackled in the air around him. “We’re going to get along famously.” He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to something almost mischievous. “Tell me, have you ever made anything that explodes?”

Avery leaned back slightly. “…Not yet?”

“Well,” Maxwell said, his grin sharpening into something borderline wicked, “that’s about to change.”

For the first time since he entered, Avery felt something other than frustration or suspicion.

It wasn’t relief, exactly.

It was curiosity.

And possibly just a little bit of concern.

Maxwell reached for the small, unassuming bag slung over his shoulder and began pulling out items items that, by all logic, should not have fit inside.

Avery’s eyes widened as he casually produced jars of alchemical powders, vials of strange liquids, and even a small, collapsible table. Then, to her utter disbelief, he pulled out a legitimate chair.

An honest-to-God chair.

Avery gawked. “How is that even ”

Maxwell waved her off with a dismissive flick of his hand. “Trade secret,” he said, spinning the chair in his hands before setting it down as if this were the most natural thing in the world. “Now, let’s get to work.”

He began setting up the makeshift lab with practiced ease, opening the room’s small window for ventilation. Then, because of course he did, he reached into his bag and pulled out an entire ventilation hood a long, flexible contraption that he attached to the windowsill with an almost casual elegance.

Avery stared. “You can’t seriously have ”

“Focus, my dear,” Maxwell interrupted, already engrossed in his task. He arranged jars and tools with the precision of someone who had done this a thousand times before. “When working with this kind of material, you’ve got to be very, very, very, very, very, very careful.” He paused, holding up a finger for emphasis. “Too much of one thing, and boom! You’re going to need a new face. Too little, and, well… it’s just not fun.”

Avery leaned in despite herself, curiosity beginning to outweigh her skepticism. “How do you measure it, then?”

“Ah! Excellent question!” Maxwell’s eyes gleamed. He grabbed a piece of chalk and began drawing shapes and lines across the tabletop. “Fractions, my dear Avery. Fractions are the key.”

Avery’s brows pulled together. “What the hell is a fraction?”

Maxwell either didn’t hear or chose to ignore her. “A fraction,” he explained, tapping the chalk against the table, “is a way to represent a part of a whole. Like this if you have one whole portion and divide it into four equal parts, each part is one-quarter.”

He continued his impromptu lesson with an energy that made it impossible for Avery not to pay attention. He demonstrated with powders and liquids, carefully measuring portions and showing her what happened when the ratios were off.

By the time they had mixed their first successful concoction a harmless puff of green smoke Avery found herself actually understanding the concept.

She blinked, realization dawning. “Wait… you’re teaching me arithmetic, aren’t you?”

“Me?” Maxwell asked, feigning innocence as he held up a beaker. “Perish the thought! I’m merely ensuring you don’t blow us both to smithereens. Accidentally teaching arithmetic is just a happy side effect.”

Avery rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t deny that it was working.

By the end of the day, she understood fractions better than she ever thought possible. And against all odds she had actually had fun.

Maxwell, for all his eccentricities, might just be the most unconventional and effective teacher she’d ever had.

“Tomorrow,” Maxwell said, grinning as he packed up his impossible bag, “we move on to equations. And maybe something with a little more bang.”

Avery still wasn’t sure if she should be excited or terrified.

Maybe both.

Avery excused herself from the makeshift classroom, heading upstairs to her room to gather her things for a bath. Her footsteps echoed faintly against the stone walls, the rhythmic sound filling the otherwise empty corridor. She was already lost in thought, focusing on the simple comfort of warm water, the feeling of steam loosening the tension in her shoulders. A bath—finally—a small luxury that, for once, had nothing to do with learning or expectations.

She disappeared around the corner, leaving Maxwell alone in the now-quiet classroom.

Moments later, Harrowmont stepped into the room, his steady presence grounding the space like the weight of an anchor. “Max, what are your thoughts?” His voice was low but firm, carrying an unspoken seriousness that Maxwell immediately picked up on.

Maxwell—his earlier eccentricity now subdued—leaned against the edge of the desk, his expression uncharacteristically solemn. The playful glint in his eyes had dimmed, his usual theatrics momentarily set aside. “She’ll come around,” he said softly, measured and calm. “But it’s going to take time. She saw something no child her age should have to see.”

Harrowmont crossed his arms, his brow furrowing deeply. “I worry it’s more than that,” he admitted. “She’s retreating into herself, shutting everyone out.”

Maxwell’s gaze flickered toward the door Avery had exited through. “Grief and guilt are strange things, old friend,” he murmured. “They linger, twist, and shape us in ways we can’t always predict.” He exhaled through his nose, a rare moment of quiet contemplation. “But she’s strong. Stronger than most. She just doesn’t know it yet.”

Harrowmont sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. The weariness in his expression spoke volumes. “And you? Are you up for this?” His voice held a note of skepticism. “You’re not exactly known for… tact.”

A faint smile tugged at Maxwell’s lips, the briefest return of his usual humor. “You’d be surprised how much tact I’m capable of when it counts.” He straightened, brushing invisible dust from his jacket with his usual exaggerated flourish. “She needs guidance. Someone to remind her that the world isn’t all shadows and blood.” He met Harrowmont’s gaze, his usual levity tinged with something far more serious. “I can do that.”

Harrowmont studied him for a long moment, weighing his words. “And the explosions?” he asked dryly.

“Controlled chaos,” Maxwell said with a wink, his eccentricity creeping back in. “Nothing says ‘life moves on’ like a little controlled chaos.”

Harrowmont shook his head, though a faint, begrudging smile played at the corners of his mouth. “Just… don’t blow up my estate.”

“No promises,” Maxwell quipped, his grin returning full force.

As Harrowmont turned to leave, he cast one last look at the door. His voice softened. “She’s in your hands, Max. Don’t let her down.”

Maxwell’s grin faded, replaced by something far more genuine. He gave a solemn nod. “I won’t.”

And so it went, for several years.

Avery’s days settled into an unusual rhythm, one that was equal parts chaos and structure. Mornings were spent under Maxwell’s questionable tutelage, where lessons were often disguised as dangerous experiments or thrilling escapades in alchemy. What began as unpredictable, often explosive sessions soon transformed into something far more profound. Math, chemistry, mechanics—it all seeped into her mind, woven into Maxwell’s madcap teaching style. She learned without realizing she was learning, absorbing knowledge as effortlessly as breathing.

She quickly came to understand one truth about her new tutor: nothing was ever normal.

It was impossible to know what to expect from Maxwell on any given day. One morning, he might lecture about chemical reactions using a suspicious amount of volatile ingredients. The next, he could be unraveling the mysteries of physics by attempting to build a catapult in the courtyard. He called it “active learning.” Harrowmont called it a safety hazard.

And yet, despite—or perhaps because of—the madness, Avery thrived.

She was no longer just a student—she was a participant, engaged in learning in a way she had never been before.

But as the years passed, her lessons began to shift.

Shortly after Avery turned ten, Harrowmont and Maxwell came to an agreement: it was time to introduce a new concept—one that blended their drastically different approaches. Harrowmont was the steady, guiding hand; Maxwell was the storm, unpredictable and chaotic.

That morning, Maxwell strode into the classroom, his usual flair slightly muted. He set down his bag with an exaggerated thud, glancing at Harrowmont before turning his attention to Avery.

“Today,” he announced dramatically, “we’re going to start learning something different.”

Avery eyed him warily. “Different how?”

Maxwell’s grin widened. “Two words: Cause and Effect.”

Avery groaned, leaning back in her chair. “Is this going to be boring?”

Maxwell placed a hand over his heart, gasping in mock offense. “I’ll try to make it interesting, but fair warning—this is one of those crucial foundation lessons. No explosions. No colorful chemicals. Just raw philosophy.”

Avery’s expression twisted in exaggerated disappointment. “Great.”

Ignoring her, Maxwell leaned forward, his expression oddly serious. “You already know cause and effect when it comes to alchemy,” he said. “Mix the wrong ingredients, you get a mess—or worse. That’s action and reaction. But what we’re talking about today is bigger. Broader.” His eyes gleamed. “It’s about understanding how every choice, every move, ripples outward. It’s the foundation of… let’s call it tactical thinking.”

Harrowmont stepped in, his voice calm, deliberate. “Avery, this is about understanding the bigger picture. In this world, every action has a consequence. Some are immediate, like swinging a sword in battle. Others are subtle, like planting a seed and waiting for it to grow.” His expression was gentle, but firm. “Every choice you make matters.”

Maxwell clapped his hands together. “Exactly! And here’s an analogy for you.” His grin widened. “Let’s say you come across a starving family. You have one loaf of bread. You could give it to them—they’ll eat for a day. Or… you could teach them to bake, to grow their own grain. Takes longer, sure, but now they’ll feed themselves forever.”

He leaned in closer, his tone conspiratorial. “Here’s another one: Imagine you’re a wizard with a powerful spell scroll. You could use it to save the day once—brilliant, right? Or you could teach someone else how to cast the spell, so they can save the day over and over.” He tapped his temple. “Short-term gain versus long-term impact. See where I’m going with this?”

Avery tilted her head, considering. “So… you’re saying I should always think about the long-term?”

“Not always,” Harrowmont corrected gently. “Sometimes, the situation demands immediate action. The trick is knowing when to act quickly and when to plan for the future.”

Maxwell nodded, uncharacteristically serious. “It’s about balance, Avery. Every action you take sets off a chain reaction. If you don’t think ahead, you might not like where that chain leads.”

Avery sighed, resting her chin in her hand. “So, no fun today?”

Maxwell’s grin returned, sly and mischievous. “Oh, don’t worry, kid. We’ll get back to explosions soon enough. But trust me—learn this, and you’ll make far fewer messes when the stakes are high.”

Harrowmont gave her a rare, approving nod. “And far more victories.”

For the first time that morning, Avery felt something spark in her mind. Cause and effect, she thought. Maybe this lesson wouldn’t be so boring after all.

Part 2

Lord Harrowmont had known this day would come eventually.

He had simply chosen to pretend it wouldn’t.

For years, he had convinced himself that there was plenty of time. Years before he had to deal with things like... this. Wars could be fought, kingdoms could rise and fall, plagues could sweep through the land, and he would still have time before he had to face something so completely out of his depth.

And yet, here she was.

Avery—twelve now, almost thirteen—stood in his study, shifting her weight from foot to foot, fingers twisting the hem of her tunic in an uncharacteristic display of nerves.

That alone set off alarm bells in his head.

Avery didn’t fidget. She was the type of child who asked unsettling questions like, “What happens when you get stabbed in the heart?” with all the casual curiosity of someone discussing the weather.

Which meant something was very wrong.

“Umm... Dad?” she began awkwardly.

Harrowmont immediately set down his quill. His battle-hardened instincts, finely tuned from decades of warfare, went on high alert. “Aye, lass? What is it?”

Avery inhaled deeply, as if preparing to confess to high treason. Her fingers tightened in the fabric of her tunic, knuckles whitening.

“I... I’m bleeding.”

Harrowmont was out of his chair before she even finished the sentence.

“Bleeding?!” His voice thundered through the study as he closed the distance in a heartbeat, scanning her frantically for wounds. “Where? What happened? Who did this?” His hand was already at his belt, fingers wrapping around the hilt of his dagger, his instincts screaming Protect. Defend. Avenge.

“It’s not like that!” Avery yelped, flailing her arms as if physically trying to push away his panic. “I mean… I think it’s not an injury. But it’s happening, and I don’t know why, and—”

She gestured vaguely downward.

Her face was redder than a battle-stained forge.

Harrowmont froze mid-step. His thoughts, usually sharp as a dwarven blade, ground to a screeching halt.

“Oh,” he muttered. His brain tried to process what she had just implied. “Oh. Ooooh.”

Avery’s brow furrowed in deep concern. “What? What’s wrong? Am I dying? Are my insides melting? Did I ingest poison somehow?! Please help me, I don’t want to die like this!”

Harrowmont opened his mouth. Then closed it.

And opened it again.

For the first time in his entire life, Lord Harrowmont had no idea what to do.

He had fought off raiding orcs with a shattered axe. He had brokered peace between warring factions on the brink of annihilation. He had once slain a wyvern single-handedly while hungover.

But this?

This was beyond him.

“No, no, no, no,” he sputtered, holding up both hands as if that alone could contain the sheer panic threatening to consume him. “You’re not dying! You’re… perfectly fine. Healthy, even! This is, uh… normal! Totally normal! Just—just stay here!”

And then, proving that dwarves were capable of moving far faster than they looked, Lord Harrowmont bolted.

Not a dignified exit. Not a measured retreat.

A full-on, beard-flapping, war-general-abandoning-post kind of bolt.

Avery stood frozen, staring after him in stunned disbelief.

“Healthy,” she muttered. “That’s exactly what they’d say if I were dying.”

Several agonizing minutes later, Harrowmont returned.

And this time, he brought reinforcements.

Mother Townson trailed behind him, exuding the kind of calm and measured wisdom that only a woman who had dealt with generations of panicked men could possess. A human woman of middling years, she wore her usual modest robes, her expression a careful balance of patience and quiet amusement.

Avery, upon seeing someone competent finally enter the room, let out an audible sigh of relief.

Mother Townson took one look at the girl, her trembling hands, her utterly bewildered expression—and then shifted her gaze to Harrowmont, who now looked like he had aged an entire decade in ten minutes.

“Come with me, dear,” Mother Townson said gently, kneeling slightly to take Avery’s hands in her own. “Let’s have a little chat.”

Avery hesitated, glancing at Harrowmont, who now resembled a man staring down the gates of hell.

“Am I going to survive this?” she asked warily.

Mother Townson chuckled softly, squeezing Avery’s hands. “Oh, I promise, dear. You’ll survive and thrive.” Then, with a knowing smile, she added, “It’s a curse, my dear. One all females—even dwarves—must endure. Sorry.”

Avery groaned and buried her face in her hands. “Great. A curse. That’s just what I needed.”

From the doorway, Harrowmont made a strangled noise, looking as if he’d rather be literally anywhere else in existence. “Right,” he muttered, rubbing his forehead. “I’ll, uh… I’ll just leave you to it, then. Mother Townson, you’ve got this… handled?”

She gave him a serene smile. “Completely, Lord Harrowmont.”

He nodded. Far too quickly. “Good. Excellent. I’ll, uh… go… have a drink. Or three.”

And with that, he was gone.

What followed was an eternity of discussion.

By the time Avery emerged from the study hours later, she looked like someone who had fought a dragon and lost.

She trudged down the hall, eyes hollow, her movements mechanical.

The thousand-yard stare of a war veteran settled into her gaze.

She said nothing to the passing servants. Nothing to the guards.

Without a word, she marched straight into the bathroom.

Then straight to her room.

And then—

The door slammed shut behind her with all the fury of a battlefield trebuchet.

For a brief moment, silence settled over the estate.

And then—

“FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!!!!!”

The entire building shook.

Mother Townson sighed and made her way to Harrowmont’s study.

Inside, she found the battle-worn dwarf nursing an impressively large mug of ale, his expression a mixture of relief and deep, existential exhaustion.

“She’s taking it well,” Mother Townson noted dryly, folding her arms.

Harrowmont downed the rest of his ale in one go, thunking the empty mug onto the desk with enough force to shake the wood. He exhaled deeply, staring blankly at the far wall.

“I’ve had three children,” he said, his voice hollow. “All of them were male.”

Mother Townson arched a brow, the corners of her lips twitching in amusement. “So, I take it this is your first time dealing with another race’s… developmental milestones?”

Harrowmont shot her a haunted look.

And reached for the ale jug.

“Let’s just say it’s been an educational day for everyone involved.”

Mother Townson chuckled softly. “Well, at least she’s not hiding under the bed.”

“Yet,” Harrowmont muttered, taking another long drink. “Give it time.”

Part 2.5

The next day or so passed in a blur of irritation and resigned frustration. Avery had spent the better part of the evening sulking in her room, halfheartedly tinkering with a broken gear mechanism just to keep her hands busy.

She had tried to push the entire humiliating ordeal from her mind, but that was proving impossible. Unfortunately, her father’s spectacular meltdown had ensured she would never be able to think about the word “healthy” without breaking into a fit of secondhand embarrassment.

So when she finally made her way down to the makeshift classroom, she was already in a foul mood.

She pushed the door open a little harder than necessary, her steps deliberate, her face set in a stormy expression that clearly screamed: Do not test me today.

Inside, Maxwell was waiting. Of course he was.

He was perched lazily on the edge of a desk, balancing a thick tome in one hand while idly twirling a dagger in the other, as though he were deciding which of the two was more interesting.

The moment he saw her, his grin stretched impossibly wide.

“Miss Avery!” he declared with far too much enthusiasm, tossing the book onto the desk with a careless flourish. “Congratulations on your—”

“Not. A. Word.”

Avery cut him off sharply, stabbing a finger at him like a drawn blade.

Maxwell, ever the connoisseur of chaos, merely raised his hands in mock surrender, though the gleam in his eyes only intensified. If anything, her agitation was only making his amusement grow stronger.

“As you wish, my dear,” he relented smoothly. Then, without missing a beat: “Coincidentally, your father thinks it’s time you learned some self-defense.”

Avery sighed heavily, dragging a hand down her face. “Of course he does.”

Maxwell, clearly ignoring her lack of enthusiasm, continued with a smirk, “And if you’re interested, I may also throw in some advanced techniques. After all, you are ‘becoming a woman,’ and any student of mine is not about to be some helpless, fainting damsel in distress.”

Avery groaned, tilting her head back toward the ceiling as if searching for divine intervention. “Why is this happening to me?”

Maxwell merely waggled his eyebrows, leaning forward conspiratorially. “Character development.”

She glared at him. “I hate you.”

“Good!” he chirped. “That’ll make this much more fun.”

Avery crossed her arms, already regretting every decision that had led her to this moment. “Fine. What am I learning this time? And please don’t say explosives.”

Maxwell’s grin took on a foxlike quality.

“Oh no, no, no. Explosives come later.” He placed a hand over his chest, feigning deep sincerity.

Avery’s eyes narrowed.

“Today,” he continued, clasping his hands together with the eager energy of someone about to drop a truly ridiculous idea, “we’re starting with good old-fashioned fisticuffs.”

Avery raised an eyebrow.

Maxwell proceeded to demonstrate exactly what he meant by ‘fisticuffs’—which, judging by his wildly exaggerated swings, involved the combat prowess of a drunken bard fighting an aggressive swarm of bees.

She stared at him, unimpressed. “You mean punching things.”

“Yes!” Maxwell clapped his hands together. “Nothing like a proper right hook to settle the nerves.”

Avery rolled her shoulders, scowling. “My nerves are fine.”

Maxwell’s grin widened. “Are they, though?”

She scowled harder.

“Sadly,” he continued, as if he hadn’t just insulted her to her face, “if we’re going to get anywhere with this, you’re going to need to bulk up a bit.” He gestured vaguely at her, then tapped his chin. “You have been a bit of a shut-in these last few years.”

Avery bristled. “I am not a shut-in.”

Maxwell smirked knowingly. “Avery, dear, you’ve barely left the estate. Books, tinkering, training—all great things, but they’ve kept you locked up in here.” He tapped his temple as if presenting a great revelation. “You’re not out there. You’re not experiencing the world.”

“I just don’t like people,” Avery shot back.

Maxwell’s expression softened ever so slightly. “Neither do I, honestly. But interacting with people is an unfortunate necessity.” He shrugged. “You can hate people all you want, but at some point, you’ll need to deal with them.”

Avery muttered something unintelligible under her breath.

Maxwell let out a dramatic sigh. “Fine, fine. We’ll table the ‘talking to people’ discussion for later. Right now, let’s focus on something you might actually enjoy—getting stronger.”

He straightened up, his tone shifting to one of genuine curiosity. “Avery, tell me—what do you want to do? Like, what do you really want to be when you grow up?”

Avery frowned, caught off guard. “I don’t know. I’m thirteen. I haven’t really thought about it.”

“Not even a little?” Maxwell pressed, his grin encouraging.

She hesitated, then shrugged. “I know I wouldn’t want to go into government like my father. That’s just… ugh. Too much talking. Too much politics. But… I wouldn’t mind traveling. Getting out of Ember Ward. Seeing things.”

Maxwell’s grin changed. It lost its teasing edge, replaced by something almost… proud. “Now that is a goal I can absolutely get behind.”

His voice took on a thoughtful quality. “Adventure. Exploration. The world is a big place, kid. And trust me—there’s a lot worth seeing.”

Avery glanced at him, a small, reluctant smile forming. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Maxwell said firmly. “And if that’s what you want, then we’d better get you ready for it.” He extended a hand toward her, his expression daring. “So what do you say? Ready to put in the work?”

Avery exhaled heavily, then nodded. “Fine. Let’s do it.”

Maxwell clapped his hands together, practically buzzing with excitement. “Excellent! Let’s start with a run, shall we?”

Avery froze. “You mean… like right now? Like right now, right now?”

“Of course!” Maxwell beamed. “There’s no better time than the present!”

Avery crossed her arms, her expression a perfect mixture of annoyance and despair. “I don’t have the right shoes. Or the right outfit for getting all sweaty. And besides, there isn’t really anywhere to run on the estate.”

Maxwell waved a hand, brushing off her complaints as if they were no more than a mild inconvenience. “That’s why, my dear, we’re going off the estate. We’re heading to the park nearby.”

Avery glowered, arms crossed so tightly they might as well have been welded together. “Maxwell, we live in a dwarven city. There aren’t any parks. And need I remind you—we’re underground.”

Maxwell paused mid-step, lifting a hand to his chin in mock contemplation. “True, true… ‘park’ might not be the precise term.” He twirled a finger lazily in the air before making a grand, sweeping gesture as if conjuring an entire landscape from nothing. “But you know what I mean—the big open space where people gather to… do people things.”

Avery sighed, rubbing her temples. “You mean the Commons? Deepstone Rest?”

Maxwell snapped his fingers, his grin flashing with triumph. “Exactly! Deepstone Rest. That’s what I said. It’s perfect! Let’s go!”

Avery groaned, dragging her feet in exaggerated protest as she followed him. “This is going to be the worst day of my life.”

Maxwell glanced back over his shoulder, throwing her a wink. “Not true,” he said brightly. “That’ll come later. But today? Today will just be mildly uncomfortable.” He clapped his hands together with dramatic flair. “Now, onward! To the park—or whatever we’re calling it!”

Avery muttered under her breath, “It’s still not a park…” but trudged after him anyway, her dread mounting with every step.