The Master of Surprise

The air in the marketplace smelled of burnt sugar and sweat. Victor Surris loved days like this—when the crowd was thick enough to hide in, loud enough to drown out mistakes, and just desperate enough for distraction to loosen their coin purses. He adjusted the frayed cuffs of his coat, flashed a grin at a passing merchant’s daughter, and raised his voice above the din. “Ladies and gentlemen! Boys and girls! Behold — a marvel unseen in all the empire!” A half-circle of onlookers paused, skeptical but curious. Victor flourished his hands, empty palms turned upward, then snapped his fingers. A shower of silver sparks erupted from his fingertips, drawing gasps. A child clapped. An old man snorted. “Impressive, eh? But that’s nothing.” Victor lowered his voice, leaning in as if sharing a secret. “What if I told you… I could make the impossible expected?” He pulled a copper coin from behind a baker’s ear, then another from a soldier’s pocket. The crowd chuckled. Predictable. Safe. Exactly what they wanted. Then he flicked the coins into the air — and they didn’t come down. People blinked. A woman reached up, swatting at nothing. The coins hung midair, glinting in the sunlight. Murmurs spread. Victor smirked. And then the screaming started. A squadron of Dreadknights marched into the square, their black armor swallowing the light. The crowd scattered like rats. Victor’s smile vanished. He hadn’t realized today was a Reaping — the day Malakar’s enforcers harvested emotions from the people, draining their joy, their grief, their fury, leaving them hollow. A child near him froze, tears streaking her face. Her mother tugged at her arm, but the girl didn’t move, paralyzed by fear. Victor knew that look. Knew what came next. Without thinking, he crouched beside her. “Hey. Watch this.” He snapped his fingers—and a burst of colors exploded above them, forming a dancing wolf made of light. The girl’s breath caught. For a second, her fear was gone. Then a gauntleted hand seized Victor’s shoulder. “You,” growled the Dreadknight, “are not authorized to provoke unauthorized emotional responses.” Victor’s stomach dropped. He’d broken the law. And worse — his magic had worked. Really worked. Not just sleight of hand, but something deeper, something that shouldn’t exist. The Dreadknight’s grip tightened. “You will be—” Victor Surris did the only thing he could think of. He laughed. It wasn’t a normal laugh. It bubbled up from somewhere strange and bright inside him, bursting out like a dam breaking. And with it came a shockwave—not of light or sound, but of pure, unfiltered surprise. The Dreadknight stumbled back, clawing at his helmet as if it burned him. The crowd gasped. The hanging coins finally clattered to the ground. Silence. Then chaos. Victor ran. He didn’t stop until his lungs burned and the alley walls blurred around him. When he finally collapsed behind a stinking fish cart, his hands were shaking. Not from fear. From something else. Something warm and wild and terrifyingly alive. He stared at his palms. “What… was that?” A shadow moved beside him. A woman in a hooded cloak stepped into the dim light, her voice low and urgent. “Hope,” she said. “And if you want to live, you’ll come with me. Now.” Victor exhaled. “Well. That’s unexpected.” And for the first time in his life, he meant it.