The third and last book in the Fate's Foe series is now out. Order a copy from your favorite book vendor. I'll soon have some copies for direct sales too. Here is the 1st chapter for you enjoyment.

Jas Cutter's boots clapped against the cobblestones of Valen's bustling marketplace, weaving through the throngs of people with an agility that came from years of navigating the crowded streets. Luka bounced beside him like a sparrow, his eyes wide with the excitement of their secret mission.

"Bet you can't swipe an apple from old Manfred's cart without him noticing," Luka challenged, a mischievous twinkle lighting his eyes.

"Please," Jas scoffed playfully, flipping a lock of brown hair out of his face. "Manfred's eyes are sharper than a hawk's. But I'll take your bet just to see you do the chicken dance in front of Tovan when you lose."

A hearty chuckle rumbled from behind them as Tovan, more like an uncle than a mere bodyguard, kept a watchful eye on the pair from a respectful distance. His presence was both comforting and slightly smothering to Jas, who yearned for just a smidgeon of freedom.

"Alright, but no magic this time," Luka insisted, knowing full well about Jas's clandestine abilities.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Jas replied, a grin tugging at his lips.

“Remember you’re retired,” Tovan called up to the two boys, “You promised your father no more stealing.”

“I wasn’t going to keep it. Just staying in practice,” Jas called back.

Their banter was momentarily paused as they passed by a stand draped with vibrant textiles, the air tinged with the scents of exotic spices and fresh pastries where a group of soldiers were shopping. It wasn't long before the chat turned serious again, their voices dropping to a hushed tone as they navigated around a pile of crates.

"War's coming, Jas," Luka said, his youthful face suddenly lined with worry. "I heard my parents talking. The Necromian Kingdom and the Elvish Kingdom...they're really going to do it, aren't they?"

"Seems like it," Jas murmured, his gaze sweeping over the market stalls as if the very shadows hid the impending conflict. "That's why we're leaving with the handcart company. Dad says it's not safe anymore, not even for Necromians like my dad."

"Or humans like us," Luka added softly.

"Exactly," Jas agreed, clapping a reassuring hand on Luka's shoulder. "We'll be okay, though. We've got each other, and our families.”

They continued on, their mission leading them to scrutinize various shops for supplies needed for the arduous journey ahead. Barrels of salted meats, wheels of cheese wrapped in cloth, and sacks of grain were all inspected with a critical eye.

"Hey, Jas?" Luka's voice held a hint of hesitation. "What do you think about your dad marrying Alix? She's...well, she's an Elf."

Jas paused, considering the emerald-eyed woman who had entered their lives with a quiet grace. He shrugged noncommittally, though his heart warmed at the thought of her gentle smile.

"She's okay," he admitted, allowing himself a small smile at the memory of her laughter echoing through the halls of the Cutter residence. Alix is...well, Alix. She is nice. And it was fun saving her from the angry mob that day we first met. It’s just weird after it being just me and my dad for so long."

"Yeah," Luka nodded, understanding flickering in his young eyes. "She is nice. I like all the gadgets in her shop, too."

"Nice doesn't begin to cover it," Jas corrected, and then quickly added, "But don't you start calling her my mom. She’s just Alix.”

"Wouldn't dream of it!" Luka chuckled, nudging Jas with his elbow.

With their list nearly complete, Jas felt a sense of accomplishment. They were doing something important, something that mattered for their families' future. And as the afternoon sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a warm golden glow over the market, Jas felt ready for whatever lay ahead. With his family, new and old, they would face it together.

The rich aroma of roasting nuts wafted through the air, mingling with the musky scent of leather from a nearby stall. Jas's fingers brushed over the rusica, the ancient elvish glove known as Fireweaver, warming his hand both literally and figuratively. Fireweaver was a fieles, a magic item created from a piece of a person’s soul. It was then that the faintest whisper tickled his mind, a voice only he could hear.

"Jas," Fireweaver murmured, its tone urgent yet calm, "beware. A young cutpurse approaches from behind."

"Got it," Jas replied mentally, not missing a beat as he feigned interest in a display of ornate compasses. “I already noticed him. He never would’ve made it in Aguares.” Without turning, he felt the presence of the would-be thief edging closer. Just as a small, tentative hand slipped towards his pocket, Jas whipped around, capturing the boy's wrist with practiced ease.

"Whoa there, little fish. The sea's far too rough for you to be swimming without learning the currents first," Jas said, a playful glint in his eye as he looked down at the boy whose wide, frightened eyes darted up to meet his. The boy was human and judging by the olive-colored skin he was Bettsian like Luka was. Maybe 6 years old?

"Sorry, sir! I..." the boy stammered, words tumbling out in panic.

"Relax," Jas soothed, releasing his grip but keeping his voice firm. "I'm not going to turn you in." Memories flashed before him—hungry days, cold nights, and the fateful encounter that changed his life.

"Here's a tip: don't go for the bulging pockets; they are often a decoy." He winked, ruffling the boy's matted hair. 

Luka watched in awe; his mouth slightly agape. "You're not mad at him?"

"Mad?" Jas chuckled softly. "Can't blame a stray cat for trying to snag a fish from the market. Besides, this is how I met my dad."

"Really?" Luka leaned in as if the tale were a secret meant only for him.

"Yep. Tried to pick his pocket, just like our friend here." Jas's gaze softened as he beckoned a vendor to hand him a meat pie, which he offered to the trembling child. "What's your name, kid?"

"Remy," the boy murmured, accepting the pie with hands that shook like autumn leaves.

"Who do you live with, Remy?" Luka asked, his brow creased with concern.

"No one," came the quiet reply before the boy took a ravenous bite, crumbs cascading down his chin.

Jas exchanged a look with Luka, the unspoken question hanging between them—what next? But the decision was swept away as swiftly as Remy after his meal, the boy bolting through the crowd, agile as a sparrow.

"Should we... do something?" Luka asked, his voice trailing off as Remy disappeared into the throngs of people.

Jas sighed, watching the space where Remy had vanished. "Sometimes, all you can do is give someone a chance at a better choice. After that, it's up to them to take it." His gaze lingered, thoughtful, before returning to the task at hand. "Come on, let's finish up here. We've got a long journey ahead."

The clatter of wooden wheels against cobblestones filled the air as Jas and Luka made their way back to the Cutter residence, a sturdy stone building nestled at the edge of Valen. The market's vibrant chaos retreated behind them, replaced by the orderly bustle of the family compound.

"Think your dad will like the extra ropes we got?" Luka bounced on the balls of his feet, a bundle of energy even after their long day.

"Knowing Mathen, he'll say we can never have too much rope," Jas replied with an easy grin, shrugging off the weight of the supplies they had promised to deliver.

Alix Cutter emerged from the house, her red hair catching the afternoon sun like a beacon as she directed the loading of the wagons. Her sharp green eyes softened when they landed on the boys. "Back already? I hope you didn't forget the flint."

"Got it right here." Jas patted his satchel, where the metallic tang of the flint mingled with the scent of leather.

Nearby, Luka’s mother, Ovelia, folded blankets with practiced hands, while his father, Bram, checked the harness on the draft horses, his brow furrowed in concentration. Their movements were a finely tuned dance of preparation, each step crucial for the journey ahead.

"Where's Tia?" Luka craned his neck, scanning the courtyard.

"Here!" A small voice piped up from beneath a wagon, followed by the sight of two tiny feet kicking as they tried to push a barrel into place.

"Careful, little sprout," Mathen's deep voice rumbled as he lifted the barrel with ease, setting it onto the wagon bed. His dark hair was peppered with gray, but his arms bulged with strength that belied his age.

"Trying to help," Tia said, beaming up at him. At 10 years old, or five by Necromian aging, her eagerness outshone her size.

"Helping is good," Alix chimed in, smoothing Tia's unruly curls. "But let's leave the heavy lifting to the adults, okay?"

Tia nodded vigorously; her wide eyes fixed on Alix with adoration.

Jas couldn't help but smile at the scene, a warmth spreading through his chest. This was what family looked like—chaotic, mismatched, and utterly perfect.

"Supplies are sorted. They'll be at the staging area by dawn," Jas reported, pulling himself back to the present. 

"Excellent work," Mathen nodded with approval, clasping Jas's shoulder in a firm grip. "Let's finish up here. We've got a safe haven to build. Tovan, help me hitch the oxen to the wagons."

Together, they heaved the last of the crates onto the wagons, securing them with the newly purchased ropes. Each knot tied was a promise—a vow to protect and preserve the life they all cherished.

"Ready, Tia?" Luka asked, offering his hand to his sister.

"Ready!" she squealed, her small hand disappearing into his as they climbed aboard the wagon.

With a final check, the caravan rolled forward, leaving behind the only home they'd known. Ahead lay uncertainty, adventure, and the unyielding hope of a new beginning. As the gates of Valen closed behind them, Jas felt the weight of his past lift. He was no longer just a boy who had tried to pickpocket his future; he was a part of something greater—a family forged not by blood, but by choice and love. 

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