A Tear

Mirak's boots crunched softly against the hardened wood, his movements deliberate and unhurried. The King of Thieves scrambled to flee, his gaudy robes dragging behind him like the tail of the rat he so perfectly embodied. But Mirak wasn't going to let that happen.

He covered the distance in seconds, slamming the man into the wooden floor with a sickening thud. His single hand grabbed the back of the King's neck, pinning him down, while his boot pressed firmly into the man's spine. The King writhed beneath him, sputtering frantic pleas, but Mirak gave no indication he was listening.

If Sanni listened closely, she could hear the faint grinding of Atta—a quiet, razor-sharp sound that reverberated ominously in the air.

"Will you kill him, Mirak?" Sanni asked, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

The sound of his name froze him. She saw his head twitch slightly, and though his hood still concealed his face, she could practically picture his expression—his mouth slightly agape, caught off guard. The man she saw before her, awkward and hesitant beneath the weight of the title "Ghost of the Lunar Storms," bore none of the marks of a seasoned assassin.

But to see him like this, to see him capable of such an act—it wouldn't do. No, he was hers.

Mirak grunted, refusing to face her. It was so like him to avoid a problem instead of confronting it. She clicked her tongue in disapproval. "Do not pretend it isn't you. I only know a handful of Publici with one hand and those particular shackles. And you paused the moment I said your name."

There was silence before Mirak finally broke it. "I find your lack of caution… unnerving," he said, his voice low and gruff.

Sanni tilted her chin upward, unbothered by his attempt to deflect. "You won't hurt me."

His boot pressed harder into the King's back, silencing the man's muffled cries. "I am a member of the Revenant," he stated firmly, as if to warn her.

"And yet," Sanni countered, her tone unshaken, "you and I have been alone more times than I can count, and you've never tried to harm me. Not even when I let my guard down with you. You won't hurt me, Mirak."

She stood from her chair gracefully, the light fabric of her white robes trailing behind her as she moved toward him. Mirak tensed as she approached, his entire frame taut with unspoken resistance. She reached out, her fingers brushing the edge of his hood, and pulled it back.

The dark-haired boy she knew was still there. Starlight eyes glimmered faintly in the dim light, dancing with reflections of the Lunar Storms outside the shattered windows. Sanni's voice softened, though her authority remained. "Mirak, I beg you—do not kill him. No matter how much of a rat this man is, his death will plunge Koona's undercity into chaos. Gang wars would erupt. Civil war could follow. We cannot afford that."

Mirak hesitated, his hand twitching ever so slightly. She knew him well enough to see that her logic had struck home. He was always practical, always considering the larger consequences. She stepped closer, gently taking his hand—the one that still remained—and guiding him a step away from the King of Thieves.

"See?" she said, her tone softening as she tried to ease the tension. "This can all be water under the bridge. Come back to the Fell estate. You can remain as my servant. Be by my side as I uncover the secrets of Lorian."

But instead of calming him, her words seemed to strike a nerve. She saw it in the way his jaw tightened, the way his hand flexed involuntarily. Before she could say more, Mirak abruptly wrenched his hand from hers.

Without warning, his arm slashed downward, Atta carving through the air in one clean, brutal motion.

"Mirak!" Sanni screamed, too late to stop him.

The King of Thieves gasped sharply, blood pooling beneath him as the storm of Atta finished its work. His body slumped lifelessly to the ground.

Mirak stood over the corpse, his cloak splattered with crimson, his breath heavy in the eerie silence that followed. The Lunar Storms outside seeped into the room, tendrils of mist curling through the shattered windows. Slowly, Mirak reached for his hood, pulling it back up to conceal his face once more. Only his gemstone-like eyes remained visible, glowing faintly beneath the fabric.

His voice, when he spoke, was steady but edged with defiance. "I will not be a slave again—not even for you, Lady Fell."

The title cut deeper than she expected, though her face betrayed nothing.

Mirak continued, his tone colder now. "You saw me on the streets of Koona, and now it's my turn to walk away."

Before she could respond, he lunged toward the shattered window. Glass shards scattered around him as he disappeared into the Lunar Storm, the swirling mist wrapping around him like a protective embrace. It was as if the storm itself welcomed him home.

Sanni stood frozen, staring at the empty space where he had been. Her guards burst into the room moments later, weapons drawn, their eyes scanning for threats. The wreckage of the room was testament to what had occurred—broken furniture, shattered glass, and the King of Thieves lying dead in a pool of blood.

One of the guards stepped toward her. "Lady Fell, are you hurt?"

She shook her head slowly, barely registering the question. Her dress, woven with Mooneye silk, had protected her from any harm. She had made certain of that—it would take far more than shattered glass to pierce her armor.

But the storm in her mind was harder to dismiss.

Mirak had made his choice. He had refused her, severed whatever bond had lingered between them. Yet he was still hers, wasn't he? That stray thought haunted her, even as she turned to face her guards with her usual composed demeanor.

"Clean this up," she commanded, her voice sharp and authoritative. "Take the King's body. The amphitheaters will need a new figurehead by morning."

Her guards moved to obey, their boots crunching against the glass and bloodstained floor.

Sanni turned to the window, her amethyst eyes scanning the swirling Lunar Storms outside. Somewhere out there, Mirak was walking away—choosing his path, his freedom. But that freedom came at a cost.

Mirak had made his choice. And now, she and Solomon would have much work to do.