To be honest, Gwayne was genuinely surprised that Amber had managed to capture someone alive.
If he had seen it an hour ago, maybe he wouldn't have been so shocked. But after watching the so-called "Master of Shadows" get swatted across the rooftops by a banker named My Little Pony, he'd pretty much given up on expecting any real combat prowess from her. At best, he had assumed Amber was a moving alarm system rather than an actual guard.
Still, somehow she had not only spotted an intruder—but brought him back as a prize.
The moment Amber dragged the unconscious man into the room, another set of urgent footsteps sounded from the hallway. The door slammed open, and Ser Byron rushed in, sword half-drawn.
"My lord! What's happened?"
He had been stationed at the main gate below but had been roused by the commotion overhead.
(When Melitta had arrived earlier, the impact had been... significantly more subtle—mostly because Amber had been knocked out before she could make noise.)
"Nothing serious," Gwayne said with a wave of his hand. "Just a minor burglar. Already dealt with. Return to your post—tonight's far from quiet."
Ser Byron hesitated, his gaze flickering to the scene: Amber grinning triumphantly over the captured rogue.
But an order was an order. "Yes, my lord," he said, saluting crisply and departing.
Once Byron was gone, Gwayne turned to Amber, curiosity written across his face.
"How did you catch him? You... actually won?"
Amber glared at him.
"What's with that tone?!" she protested. "Sure, I'm not exactly a front-line bruiser, but I'm not completely hopeless, you know! I even killed one of those 'Others' you're always on about!"
Gwayne continued staring at her, unconvinced.
Amber huffed, crossing her arms.
"Fine, fine! He was mostly stupid. Instead of fighting head-on, he tried to show off his Shadow Step—and I kicked him right out of the shadows. Knocked him halfway between the physical realm and the Shadow Realm. One good jolt and he blacked out."
Gwayne blinked at her in disbelief.
Only you, he thought, could weaponize brute-force against metaphysical boundaries.
Shadow Step was the bread and butter of every serious infiltrator. Most could slip into the threshold between the material world and the Shadow Realm for a time—an art akin to dancing on a razor's edge, perilous and delicate. One misstep, and you could vanish into the Shadow forever, prey to the nameless horrors lurking beyond.
Normally, Shadow Walkers were untouchable in that state. Even masters of the art couldn't forcibly pull each other back to reality. It was a solitary dance.
Normally.
But apparently, if an eldritch half-elf with the fighting spirit of a greased cat decided to kick you out of it, all bets were off.
Amber was still bragging:
"It was hilarious! He crouched down all sneaky, slipped into shadow mode, and tiptoed up next to me waving a little dagger around. I just pretended not to see him—then, WHAM, booted him straight out of the dark."
Rebecca, meanwhile, had knelt beside the unconscious intruder, studying him carefully.
"Is he... going to be okay?" she asked.
Gwayne shook his head.
"Hard to say. Usually, a hit like that scrambles your mind. Best case, he's just unconscious. Worst case... vegetable."
As he spoke, the captive's body gave a sudden jerk, and he groggily came to.
Under normal circumstances, a trained infiltrator would have immediately feigned continued unconsciousness—slowing his breath, stifling movement, hiding even his heartbeat.
But the Shadow Step's backlash had shaken him badly. Before he realized it, he was making eye contact with Gwayne Seawright.
For a moment, the young man froze.
Then, almost in the same heartbeat, he shifted—trying to bite down on a hidden poison capsule.
Except… it was gone.
He could only sit there, lips clamped tight, saying nothing.
"What's your name?" "Who sent you?" "What's your mission?"
Gwayne fired off three sharp questions.
The youth remained stubbornly silent, face blank.
Amber twirled a dagger between her fingers lazily.
"You want me to 'persuade' him?" she said cheerfully. "I'm not exactly licensed, but I've seen my share of dungeon work. Picked up a few tricks."
Rebecca stared at her, aghast. "You broke into dungeons?!"
Amber shrugged proudly.
"Guards stash their loot there sometimes, waiting to smuggle it out after shift changes. I just helped myself. It's practically charity."
Before she could start detailing her criminal philosophy, Gwayne cut her off.
"Forget it. Torture won't work. This one's a Royal Shadow—one of the king's trained agents. They're the elite of the elite. Stealth, combat, mental conditioning—you name it."
He glanced down at the captive.
"I'm amazed you caught him at all. That alone should earn you free drinks at every tavern for half a year."
The young man's face twitched in surprise.
"And you," Gwayne said, smiling thinly, "probably want to know how I recognized you."
The youth hesitated... then gave a tiny nod.
"Simple," Gwayne said. "I founded the Royal Shadows. I designed the first codes, wrote your training manuals."
Amber's jaw dropped.
"You—You, a giant slab of knight meat—founded a stealth division?! You taught them shadow walking?!"
"No," Gwayne said mildly. "I taught them endurance drills. And dual-wield greatsword combat."
Amber's brain seemed to short-circuit.
"Why would shadow-walkers need greatsword training?!"
"In case they got spotted," Gwayne said simply. "And needed to kill everyone before they could report it."
"But getting spotted should end a mission!"
"Not in Andraste," Gwayne said, smirking. "In Andraste, getting spotted means the real mission starts."
The captured agent winced visibly. Clearly, he recognized those dreadful standards—and the brutal training they represented.
"Francis II sent you, didn't he?" Gwayne said casually.
The agent said nothing.
Gwayne chuckled.
"I doubt the king sent you to kill me—Not with half the kingdom already buzzing about my arrival. Assassinating me now would cause chaos. More likely, you were ordered to watch me."
Still silence.
"But I wonder," Gwayne mused, "were you told to keep your distance? Because sneaking onto my rooftop was either extreme confidence... or extreme disobedience."
Finally, the agent spoke for the first time:
"I have failed in my duty. I will accept death."
Gwayne smacked him lightly across the face.
"Enough with the melodrama. You think dying here restores your honor?"
The young man stared at him, baffled.
"Royal Shadows exist to protect the king. To protect the realm. To protect Andraste. Your job is to stand against traitors and invaders—not to spy on the founder of your kingdom."
Gwayne's voice hardened.
"If I caught you on the battlefield, your loyalty would be admirable. But you're not in enemy territory. You're in my home."
The young man flinched, shame flickering across his face.
"No..." he muttered, "I didn't mean—"
"Save it," Gwayne said, rising to his feet. "I'm not petty enough to punish my descendants' descendants. You can go."
The agent blinked, stunned.
Even Amber and Rebecca seemed momentarily speechless.
"You heard me," Gwayne said. "Go. Or do you want me to escort you?"
The agent slowly rose to his feet.
"You're sure?"
"Positive," Gwayne said. "I'm not about to parade you in front of the king tomorrow. I'm too old for those games. Just... remember who spared you."
The young man hesitated a moment longer.
Then he bowed stiffly.
"...Thank you for your mercy."
And with that, he vanished into the shadows.
Gwayne watched him disappear through the open window.
"...Another one using the window," he muttered.
Only once the agent was gone did Rebecca finally speak.
"Ancestor... was it really okay to just let him go?"
"Of course," Gwayne said with a smile. "I wanted him to go."
"But he could've— He could have been punished—"
"Rebecca," Gwayne said, ruffling her hair lightly, "If you want real power, you need to think long-term."
He spread his hands.
"One small pawn? Not a loss. But a loyal pawn who owes you a debt? That's priceless."
Rebecca blinked.
"You mean..."
"Depends how he reports back," Gwayne said. "Two possibilities: Either Francis II won't sleep a wink tonight worrying—or from this day forward, there'll be one less man at court willing to die for his king."
He turned to stare out at the starless, moonless night.
"A loyalty divided is no loyalty at all. And that's something no king can afford."