The Plot thickens

"He's dead, then?" Lock asked, his voice quieter than usual. He sat cross-legged on the edge of the clay roof, turning over the silver rose-shaped hilt of the Silver Mark assassin's weapon in his hands. The blade curved like a crescent moon, its polished surface catching the pale light of Rhea above. It gleamed in contrast to the rough, worn leather of Lock's gloves.

Mirak perched on the opposite side of the roof, his legs swinging idly over the edge. His hand absently traced circles in the dust, his fingers brushing against the bits of shattered stone that once belonged to Titan, now scattered like forgotten debris from the heavens. His mind wandered, spinning out strange possibilities. Maybe he could do it—create a light so blinding, so immense, that it would split the sky itself. A fire so bright it could push the Lunar Storms away for good.

No one would doubt him then.

"Mirak?" Lock prompted, breaking the silence.

Mirak's head tilted slightly, his gaze distant but his voice steady. "As dead as he can be. His head was split open, his corpse lying on the floor of his villa."

Lock smiled faintly, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. He gently punched Mirak's shoulder. "It gets easier, you know."

Mirak glanced sideways at his companion, his expression unreadable. "And the Silver Mark assassin?" he asked, deliberately shifting the subject.

Lock's smile soured instantly. "It got away," he admitted, his voice tinged with frustration. "That's going to come back to haunt us."

The two fell silent, the unspoken weight of the mission settling between them. The wind rustled faintly, carrying with it the faint echoes of the waking city below. They shifted uncomfortably, both knowing there was more to say but waiting for the other to begin.

Finally, Lock sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "You probably have questions," he said, his tone resigned.

"Enough to fill the libraries of Koona," Mirak replied, his words dry but not without an edge of curiosity.

Lock nodded. "Then ask them. Looks like we'll be stuck together longer than I thought."

Mirak frowned, leaning back slightly. "What do you mean, Lock?"

"I mean," Lock said, tossing the silver rose in the air and catching it without looking, "that the Silver Mark assassin has your scent now."

Mirak's scowl deepened. "No more riddles, Lock. I've let you keep your secrets long enough, but they're starting to affect me—and the mission." His voice carried a rare sharpness, a demand for clarity.

Lock nodded slowly, his expression serious. "If a Silver Mark has your scent, they can find you within a three-mile radius. It doesn't matter where you hide—if you're in the same district as them, they'll know exactly where you are."

Mirak's brow furrowed. "How?"

Lock met his gaze, his tone calm but weighted. "Their noses are lined with sensory cells that can track the iron and resin in your blood. Your scent stands out like a beacon. And the reason I know this…" Lock paused, closing his eyes briefly. "...is because I was one of them. A Silver Mark assassin. And I can do the same thing."

Mirak froze, the words landing like a blow. "You were—what?"

Lock's gaze didn't waver. "A Silver Mark assassin. It was a long time ago. But yeah, that's how I know."

Mirak's voice rose, his anger barely restrained. "That's why Lancelot sent you to kill the Omen Lord, isn't it? This was never just about the Revenant."

Lock exhaled, the weight of his past pressing down on him. "It was chance, Mirak. Nothing but chance. My life's story is written in a letter dripping with blood, and I thought I'd left it behind. But it seems I wasn't so fortunate."

Mirak fell silent for a moment, his anger giving way to his own confession. "Sanni knows I'm part of the Revenant."

Lock raised an eyebrow, though he looked more amused than alarmed. "Oh? Then it seems Min will have a few choice words for me when we report back."

Mirak shook his head. "You could still stay with the Fell. Sanni… I know she wouldn't harm you. You'd have a better chance with her protection."

Lock scoffed, a small grin creeping onto his face. "And let you take all the glory? No thanks. I don't backstab my partners." His grin softened slightly, his voice growing more serious. "Besides, our time as servants has run its course. Something tells me it's almost time to raid the Palace."

Mirak blinked, surprised. "The Palace? Already?"

Lock extended a hand to help him up. "Lancelot's playing a dangerous game, and we're the pieces he's moving into place. Let's finish this work as Revenants together, Mirak. Afterward…" He shrugged. "Afterward, we'll deal with the Silver Marks and whatever guild politics come crawling out of the shadows. Together."

For a moment, Mirak hesitated, staring at Lock's outstretched hand. The past few days had been a whirlwind of chaos, betrayal, and bloodshed. Sanni's piercing amethyst gaze lingered in his mind, the weight of her expectations pressing down on him. The Lunar Storms had embraced him like an old friend, but even they offered no answers.

And yet, here was Lock, steadfast as ever, standing with him against whatever came next.

Mirak clasped Lock's hand firmly, pulling himself to his feet. The faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

The first light of dawn crept over the horizon, painting the city of Koona in soft golds and reds. The towering spires and labyrinthine streets came alive in the morning glow, but to Mirak, the day felt heavy with the promise of trials yet to come.

Below them, the city stirred. Merchants opened their stalls, children darted through narrow alleys, and the smoke of early cooking fires rose into the air. Koona was waking, oblivious to the storm brewing within its walls.

"We'll need to move quickly," Lock said, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "The coming days won't be kind to any of us. The Revenant will be tested. Bonds will be strained."

Mirak nodded, his grip tightening slightly. "Then we don't let those bonds break."

Lock grinned, his usual confidence returning. "That's the spirit."

Together, they descended from the roof, their figures fading into the bustle of the waking city. Whatever trials awaited them—Silver Marks, the Palace, or the machinations of Lancelot—they would face them as allies. For now, that was enough.

And as the sun climbed higher, the shadow of the Revenant stretched long across the streets of Koona, heralding the battles yet to come.