The grand dining room echoed with the soft click of the door as the servants departed, leaving Thorne alone with Uncle. The room, which had felt so suffocating moments ago, now seemed even more oppressive in its silence. Thorne's heart pounded, a familiar dread clawing at his insides.

The sudden solitude with Uncle felt like being trapped in a cage with a beast, the tension in the air thick enough to choke on. His body wanted to twitch, to brace itself for the inevitable beating that had been a constant threat in these moments, but the new skill he had unlocked earlier—Mask of Deceit—saved him once more, keeping his exterior calm and controlled.

Uncle leaned back in his chair, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as he wiped his greasy hands on a napkin. "You know, Thorne," he began, his tone oddly conversational, "this little project could change everything for us."

Thorne forced himself to focus, pushing past the residual fear. His mind quickly analyzed the situation—Uncle rarely spoke without purpose. This was likely a test, a way to gauge Thorne's understanding of the larger game. "The Guild of Assassins," he said, more of a statement than a question.

Uncle's eyes gleamed with a mixture of pride and ambition. "Indeed. This far from the capital, the cities are neglected in more ways than one. The guilds—the real guilds—they never venture this far out. They think there's nothing to gain here, no power worth taking. But that's where they're wrong."

Thorne listened intently, understanding the layers beneath Uncle's words. Every sentence was a puzzle, a piece of a larger strategy that Thorne had to decipher.

"The thieves' guilds, the assassins' guilds," Uncle continued, his voice growing more animated, "they all see the borders of the kingdom as a waste of money and resources. They believe there aren't enough nobles out here to finance their operations. Most of the influential nobility reside in the capital and the surrounding provinces, after all. But what they see as barren ground, I see as fertile soil, ripe for the taking."

Thorne nodded slowly, absorbing the information. Uncle's vision was clear, and in its own twisted way, it made sense. With the established guilds focusing their efforts on the more populated and wealthier regions, Uncle had found an opportunity to exploit. "You've already made offers to some important figures, haven't you?" Thorne asked, his voice measured.

Uncle grinned, a smile that didn't reach his cold eyes. "Oh, yes. There are those who see the potential here, who understand the power I'm building. But so far, the guild has been... expensive. A money pit, if you will. But that's going to change soon. I just need my recruits to be competent enough, which, frankly, they aren't yet."

Thorne hesitated, knowing the weight of the question that was coming. "And now that you've been with the Family for some time," Uncle asked, his tone casual but his gaze sharp, "what do you think of the recruits? You've seen them with your own eyes."

Thorne paused, considering his response carefully. He had seen the recruits—had trained with them, fought alongside them. Though they hadn't been allowed to the higher levels where the older, more experienced recruits resided, he had caught glimpses of them during training.

There were some who were impressive, who showed real potential. But the ugly truth was that what Uncle was trying to build couldn't create assassins overnight. It took years of training, experience, and, most importantly, survival.

Compared to the older cousins and the gravediggers, the recruits were still amateurs. Even the guards from the noble houses wouldn't have much trouble taking them out in a straightforward fight.

He paused, considering his response carefully, his mind racing through possible answers. "I think..." Thorne began cautiously, "that they're improving. Some of them show promise. But it takes time to create skilled assassins. The recruits aren't ready yet to take on more... sophisticated targets."

Uncle's face reddened, the calm demeanor vanishing in an instant as if Thorne's words had been a personal insult. His hand clenched into a fist, slamming down on the table with a force that made the cutlery rattle. Thorne's muscles tensed, his body instinctively bracing for the retaliation he had been dreading. But Uncle took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down, though his face remained flushed with anger.

"I grow impatient with their incompetence," Uncle hissed, his voice tight with barely restrained fury. "Why can't they be more like you?"

Thorne had no answer to that. The comparison made him uncomfortable, not least because he knew what it implied. Uncle's expectations for him were far higher than for any of the others, and the pressure of those expectations weighed heavily on him. But there was also a need to defend his fellow recruits, to speak for those who were struggling to survive in the harsh environment Uncle had created.

"Some of the older cousins are very skilled," Thorne said cautiously, choosing his words with care. "For example, my trainers—Talon and Lock—they're excellent."

The mention of Talon and Lock seemed to strike a nerve. Uncle's face twisted with sudden rage, his hand shooting out to grab the edge of the table. "Cousins?" he spat, the word laced with venom. "Don't you dare call them that! My new guild shouldn't be associated with orphans, with common street rats!"

Thorne gritted his teeth, the insult burning in his chest. He had to fight to keep his expression neutral, to swallow the anger that threatened to boil over. Uncle's disdain for those he considered beneath him was nothing new, but it never failed to enrage Thorne.

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Uncle continued, his voice harsh, each word a slap. "Talon and Lock, and most of the older members of the guild, are nothing more than adventurers I hired as personal guards and later turned into trainers. They are not family, and they certainly aren't worth your respect."

Thorne felt his nails digging into the palm of his hand beneath the table, but he forced himself to remain calm, to not let Uncle see how much the words affected him. "I understand," he said quietly, though the words felt bitter on his tongue.

Uncle frowned, his jowls quivering as he squirmed in his seat. He seemed to be considering something, his mind churning as he tapped his finger against his chin. "I don't like my guild being called 'the cousins,'" he muttered, more to himself than to Thorne. "It lacks... gravitas. What should I call them?"

Thorne thought of the broken and haunted faces of his fellow recruits, the way their eyes had dulled from the endless trials and suffering they endured. The name came to him unbidden, a reflection of the pain and despair that had become a part of their lives. "The Lost Ones," he murmured, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Uncle paused, his eyes narrowing as he considered the name. A thunderous clap broke the silence as Uncle slapped the table with a beaming smile. "That is splendid, Shortie! The Lost Ones!" He repeated the name, savoring it as if it were a fine wine. "It will inspire fear in my enemies. The Lost Ones..." Uncle's cold eyes gleamed with the possibilities the name conjured, a future filled with power and control.

Thorne nodded humbly, knowing that was the response Uncle was expecting. Inside, though, he felt a hollow ache. The name, once a quiet tribute to his fellow recruits, had now been twisted into a tool for Uncle's ambitions.

Uncle leaned back in his chair, a wicked smile playing on his lips. "Always the one with the answers, aren't you, Thorne?"

"I try to be," Thorne replied, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him.

Uncle's smile grew sharper, more calculating. "You know, I plan to employ my assassins soon—to the nobles. They are a hot commodity, one that will bring me gold and power. One cannot depend on wool forever." He waved a hand dismissively, as if the mention of Lord Durnell was of no consequence. "Lord Durnell is good enough as a puppet, but he cannot provide me with what I crave."

Thorne arched an eyebrow, curious despite himself. "And what do you crave?"

Uncle's smirk widened. "Power, Thorne. Power and control."

The smirk faded, replaced by a deep scowl. "These cursed nobles, though, have proven to be more stubborn and irritating than I expected. They have yet to accept me into their circle, no matter how much power I have accrued in Alvar. I am never invited to their balls, their councils, or even their garden parties," he spat the last words as if they were poison, though Thorne could see the anger and bitterness simmering beneath his uncle's facade. "Without them, I cannot begin to push my products."

Thorne felt a wave of disgust rise within him at the way Uncle spoke of his recruits. Every day, they fought for their lives, struggling to become stronger, to survive, only for Uncle to use them as tools to gain more power. But he kept his face impassive, drumming his fingers lightly on the table as he considered the situation.

The truth was, Uncle's frustration with the nobles was understandable, but his approach was flawed. Thorne could see the cracks forming in Uncle's strategy, but it wasn't his place to point them out. Not yet, anyway.

With a calm voice, Thorne responded to the unspoken question. "I'm sure you've thought of every possible way, Uncle. You're a brilliant strategist, after all."

Uncle arched an eyebrow at the obvious flattery but didn't stop him. Thorne continued, "The way I see it, you have three options. One is to obtain a noble title. I don't know how feasible that is, but I'm guessing it will be very difficult to obtain. Having a title would open most doors automatically."

Uncle grunted, clearly not impressed with that suggestion.

"The second option," Thorne went on, "is to amass so much power that even the mere thought of offending you would make the nobles hesitant to slight you. Since it will take some time for the Lost Ones"—he hid a grimace as he said the name out loud—"to become the force needed to completely subdue the local nobility, you'll either have to be patient or find another way."

Uncle's frown deepened, his jowls swinging as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "And what about the third option?" he demanded when Thorne didn't immediately speak.

Thorne shrugged, spearing a piece of honeyed lamb with his fork. "You find a representative. Someone who can infiltrate their ranks and act on your behalf."

Uncle glared at him, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. "You think I haven't thought of that? But all those cursed nobles are either too arrogant to accept such a deal or too cunning to be trusted. They'll reap the benefits of our arrangement and backstab me in the process."

Thorne carefully set his fork back on the table, his movements slow and deliberate. "Then you either find someone too desperate to betray you... or create your own noble."

Uncle's fork hovered mid-air, his eyes narrowing as he processed Thorne's words. "What?" he asked, his tone flat.

Thorne met his gaze evenly. "You know, make someone pass as a noble and have them infiltrate high society. You do have a few aspiring spies lying around."

For a moment, Uncle glared at Thorne's suggestion as if he were about to lash out, but then he fell into deep thought, his expression softening as he considered the possibilities. He half-spoke to Thorne, half-muttered to himself, "Parading as a noble is no easy feat. There are enchanted papers to acquire, signed by the king no less, a magical signet, a crest approved, authentication of the provenance..."

Uncle continued to ramble, losing himself in the logistics of the idea, and Thorne allowed his mind to drift, picking at his food while Uncle became absorbed in his musings.

Suddenly, Uncle touched a small crystal by his side, and at once, the double doors opened. Arletta entered, bowing respectfully as she awaited his command. "Prepare the Blue Room for Thorne. He will be staying the night here."

Arletta's eyebrows flickered in surprise for just a moment before she responded, "It will be done."

Thorne knew that he was being dismissed, and he stood up, careful to keep his movements smooth and respectful. Uncle didn't say goodbye, merely giving him a nod of acknowledgment as he remained lost in thought.

As Thorne walked out of the grand dining room, his mind still buzzing with everything that had transpired, a single thought dominated his mind: he had survived. Unscathed, no less.

He finally let his body relax and turned to the blinking notifications in his vision.

Skill level up: Mask of Deceit!

Skill level up: Mask of Deceit!

Skill level up: Mask of Deceit!

Skill level up: Mask of Deceit!

Skill level up: Mask of Deceit!

Skill level up: Mask of Deceit!

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