Chapter 168 The Hindsight Rescue

The card room behind the Zero dorms smelled of spilled cider, tallow smoke, three years of lost bets. Riven pushed through the door looking for one chair in particular, the one where Cael always sat slouching.

"He is not here," Tamsin said, shuffling a deck with two sharp snaps, "he still owes me silver."

Riven dropped onto the bench across from her, "When did you see him last?"

"Two bells ago, he walked out smiling like a man who sold his own shadow."

"Did he say where he was going?" he asked, leaning over the table.

"Barley Square, something about a hero handing out free rescues."

"Free anything from Dorian costs extra, you know that better than anyone here."

"That is what I told him," she said, flicking a card across the table, "he laughed and called me cynical."

He dropped into the empty chair and spent fifteen thousand RF on a Peek, the room tilting around him. Cael walked out of the card room alone, whistling, a coin dancing across his knuckles toward distant Barley Square.

[ Peek: Cael’s Claim | Cost: 15,000 RF | Balance: 17,567,600 ]

’He went to Dorian’s square on purpose... that’s a bad sign, even for a gambler.’

"Thanks for the chair," he said, already on his feet.

"Bring back my silver," Tamsin called after him, "or at least his body, I am not picky."

He vaulted a fruit stall and landed in Barley Square, the Peek still fading behind his eyes. Twenty students huddled around the fountain while cultists in scarlet closed in from three streets at once.

"Somebody help us!" a boy cried from the fountain, clutching his satchel.

Dorian stepped out of a doorway as if on cue, his slender sword already drawn and gleaming bright. Golden light gathered on his shoulders as the watching crowd leaned forward, hungry to see a hero work.

"Stay behind me," Dorian told the students, his voice carrying across the square, "nobody dies today."

"The Choir takes what it is owed," the lead cultist sang, raising a hooked knife.

A cultist lunged at a girl named Alma with a flashing dagger, Dorian arriving half a step late. Her scream cut off, then the whole square flickered, pigeons flying backward, fountain water climbing into its basin.

’Ten seconds back... he’s rewinding to make the save look easy.’

"Behind me, all of you," Dorian said again, smiling at the exact same moment as before.

He saved her the second time, catching the dagger on his crossguard with a smile rehearsed in a mirror. The crowd applauded wildly, golden Regard pouring onto his shoulders until he glowed like a small lantern at dusk.

"Hero of Solace!" a man shouted from the market stalls, waving his hat.

Riven counted the ambushers while the crowd cheered, noticing how each cultist glanced at Dorian before every swing. Their song ended on the same bar every time, like actors waiting for the applause to finally settle.

’It’s a play... he hired the entire cast.’

He stepped off the curb into the open square, hands loose at his sides, "Nice show, does the cultist on the left get a bow too?"

"Step back," Dorian said warmly for the crowd, "you are frightening them."

"Ask the man on the left who’s paying him."

"I do not know what you mean," the cultist stammered, "this was not—"

"The villain defends the Choir," Dorian announced, spreading his arms, "of course he does."

The crowd booed, a wave of sound rolling over the fountain, while Alma flinched with her hands over her ears. Dorian looked wounded and gracious in equal measure, the way a hero looks when he forgives a bully in public.

"I will not hurt you," Dorian said gently, "stand down and I will not."

He rolled his shoulders, loosening the ache from the stall jump, "That’s a lot of promises from a man holding a sword."

"Promises are cheap when the crowd is watching," Dorian said, so softly only he could hear.

Dorian came in low and fast, his slender sword already pointed at the spot where Riven would step. Offbeat Step carried him left anyway, straight onto the blade waiting there, patient as a door held open.

"Offbeat Step, left, then low at the knee," Dorian murmured, parrying before the cut came.

Riven changed the cut midair, borrowing a rhythm Mara taught him, drawing a thin line across Dorian’s cheek. Dorian smiled through the blood, then the square flickered again, pigeons reversing, spray sucking back into the fountain.

’That’s the second one... he has one rewind left and he’s spending the day just to beat me in public.’

"You are very predictable," Dorian said, standing three inches left of where he stood before.

The same cut came again, but now Dorian stood three inches left, his blade crossing Riven’s throat first. He twisted away a heartbeat late, the flat of the sword slamming into his ribs with a crack.

"I counted your rewinds," he wheezed, "you have one left."

"One was all I needed."

Dorian’s shoulder drove into his chest, lifting Riven clear off his feet and through the old fountain’s rim. Water exploded around him as the basin shattered, sending cold shards tearing across his back and both arms.

"The hero beat the villain!" a child cried, bouncing on his father’s shoulders.

The crowd roared its approval for the hero, golden Regard flooding onto Dorian like warm sunrise through a window. Dorian knelt in the water and offered a hand, his face a mask of tender concern for the crowd.

"You should have stayed dead, extra," Dorian murmured, smiling for the crowd.

He hauled Riven upright and brushed off his shoulders, lips close to his ear, voice flat as a blade. Blood filled Riven’s mouth, hot and metallic, but he let the hero hold him up for the cheering crowd.

"Thanks for the hand," he rasped, "I’ll return it with interest."

"I look forward to the receipt."

Alma stared at him from the broken fountain with a look caught between fear and sharp curiosity. She opened her mouth to speak, then Dorian’s hand settled on her shoulder and the question died.

"Come away from him, Alma," Dorian said kindly, "he is not safe to stand near."

Alma tried once more, voice small, "But he said the man on the left was—"

"He says many things, sweetheart, mostly to hear himself bleed."

He walked out of the square leaving a trail of drops on the cobbles, the cheering swelling behind him. Nothing came with him from it except a dozen fresh cuts, a bruised pride, one honest question about Cael.

’He knew my first step before I took it... that’s not luck, that’s a spoiler.’

---

The Zero dorm corridor was empty by the time he limped in, torchlight guttering over rows of numbered doors. Cael’s door stood at the end, the name plate under the peephole blank where his name used to be.

’Dorian staged a fight to keep me busy... while the Choir took the one name I came here to find.’

He pressed his thumb to the blank plate, but the taste of Cael’s name was gone from his tongue.

Only cold wood answered him, slick with the blood still dripping from his hand into the dark.