"Shadows and Secrets"

Evelyn vision: Three days earlier, at the south gate of Gothia, 189 New Era.

Evelyn watched Leonard walk away. The wind whipped a strand of hair across her cheek, the cold sting a faint echo of the hollow feeling in her chest. His steps seemed unusually deliberate as he navigated the winding alleys, each one pulling her in two directions—her mission and a feeling she couldn't yet define. Their parting glance lingered, a silent exchange that felt disproportionately weighty.

"He shouldn't be alone," she murmured, his silhouette shrinking in the gathering shadows. "Not out there." A sigh escaped her, a wisp of white against the gray stone walls. How could she reconcile protecting him with her own hidden purpose?

She dismounted, a subtle heaviness in her movements. The Guild House loomed, a familiar silhouette against the skyline, yet today it offered no sense of homecoming. A flicker of guilt, chased by a wave of unease, replaced the usual satisfaction of returning to Gothia.

The problem tugged at her thoughts, but she pushed it aside. There was a mission, a promise made. And a secret that held the potential to shatter Leonard's world, and perhaps Humbra's as well.

Evelyn absently brushed back her dark hair, a recurring gesture when her thoughts tangled. Now was not the time for second-guessing. There was work to be done.

Inside the Guild House, Evelyn approached the mission counter. The attendant behind it barely stifled a yawn, his posture a picture of apathy. A brief exchange, her identification slid across the counter, and Evelyn received her payment for the gnoll incursion. The clink of coins in her pouch felt strangely empty.

As she turned to leave, a young attendant hailed her, a scroll bearing the royal seal in his outstretched hand. A carrier pigeon, marked with the royal insignia, perched nearby, its beady eyes tracking her movements—a living extension of the King's will, waiting for the seal to be broken.

Evelyn's fingers tightened around the scroll as she scanned the neat, commanding script. Her jaw muscles bunched, and her lips thinned. The words swam before her eyes. "Seriously?" The thought was a silent snarl. "Give me a damn break!" She crumpled the parchment, her breath coming in a sharp exhale. With a flick of her wrist, the message skittered across the floor. This mission was starting to feel less like a duty and more like a shackle.

Evelyn's boots echoed on the stone floor as she left the Guild House, her stride purposeful, oblivious to the curious glances of other adventurers. Home was the only place she could think; she could try to untangle the knot of her mission and the loyalty she owed her family.

Her home, a grand estate in Gothia's central district, offered a stark contrast to the city's grit. Two butlers, their attire immaculate, bowed in unison as she passed through the imposing gates.

"Welcome back, Miss Evelyn," one murmured, his voice barely audible in the vast entrance hall.

Evelyn offered a curt nod, a blend of relief and apprehension swirling within her. The mansion, a labyrinth of rooms and hidden gardens, was her sanctuary, yet it also served as a constant reminder of her identity and her obligations.

In the kitchen, Evelyn placed her daggers on the cool surface of the counter and reached for a piece of fruit. Her stomach clenched, vivid images of the Wailing Wetlands flashing before her eyes—the carnage, the cries of the dying. She bit into the fruit, forcing herself to swallow, needing the sustenance.

As she chewed, her mind raced. How could she help Leonard navigate the grief of losing Liam? How could she shield him from unseen dangers without betraying her own secrets? And how could she appease her family and the crown, both demanding swift progress?

The chief butler's arrival interrupted her thoughts, his demeanor impeccably formal. "Miss Evelyn," he announced with a slight bow. "Your uncle requests your presence in his office. Your mother is also in attendance."

A knot of ice formed in Evelyn's stomach. Gareth Clark, her uncle and the head of their clan, was not a man to be trifled with. Such summons rarely brought good tidings. A faint tremor ran down her spine. "Here we go," she thought, her fingers instinctively brushing the hilts of her daggers.

Taking a steadying breath, Evelyn made her way to the office, steeling herself for the encounter. Inside the opulent room, her uncle was seated behind his massive desk, a stark contrast to her mother's gentler presence in a nearby armchair.

Gareth Clark epitomized power and wealth. His silver hair, meticulously combed back, accentuated a sharp, angular face. His gaze, the color of aged amber, was intense and unwavering as he observed Evelyn. He radiated an aura of command, honed through years at the helm of Humbra's underworld. A subtle, almost imperceptible curve played on his lips, and his fingers, adorned with rings, tapped a silent rhythm on the polished desktop. The only man who could compete with Gareth's presence was Evelyn's father, Alistar, who was now deceased.

"Evelyn, good to see you," Gareth began, his smooth voice belying the sharpness in his eyes. "You look well."

Evelyn's mother embodied quiet grace, a faint smile gracing her lips as she met her daughter's eyes. But her warm brown eyes held a current of worry, searching Evelyn's for any hint of fatigue or distress. She was dressed in black, her perpetual state of mourning since Evelyn's father's death, the simple yet elegant dress accentuating her slender frame. 

Evelyn took a few steps toward her mother, but she hesitated. She thought that this was not the time or the moment.

Ravenna held a teacup in her hands, and the fragrant steam did little to relieve the tension in the room. She adds a splash of milk to her tea, a small, familiar gesture that somehow heightens the seriousness of the upcoming conversation, while keeping her attention on her belongings so as not to irritate Gareth.

"I'm good, Mom," Evelyn replied, her smile feeling strained and artificial. "Just a little weary from the incursion."

Gareth made a soft, noncommittal sound, effectively ending the brief exchange. His gaze bore into Evelyn, the faint smile replaced by a firm, expectant set to his mouth.

"Evelyn," he said, his voice acquiring a distinct edge of impatience. "I require an update on your mission. The King grows restless."

Evelyn's throat constricted. She had no victories to report, no progress to offer. The mission was stalled. "I haven't uncovered any concrete information on the target yet," she confessed, her gaze drifting from his penetrating stare. "But I'm pursuing several leads."

Gareth's fingers drummed a staccato beat on the desk, a clear indication of his displeasure. He took a slow, deliberate breath, as if to control his frustration.

"You must deliver tangible results, and swiftly," he stated, a subtle undercurrent of menace in his voice. "The king is not known for his patience. Remember your obligations, Evelyn."

Evelyn swallowed, the weight of her responsibilities pressing down on her. She was acutely aware of her family's deep-rooted ties to the crown and the dire consequences of failure. The Clark family was the royal spy order of the Kingdom of Dunkel, a secret order, by the way.

"I will provide a comprehensive report soon," she affirmed, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands.

Gareth dismissed her with an almost imperceptible wave of his hand, his expression unreadable. He regarded her with the cool detachment one might reserve for an underperforming subordinate.

"See that you do," he said, his tone dry, almost sardonic. "After all, it shouldn't be an insurmountable task to gather intelligence on a mere village boy."

Evelyn departed, her heart a leaden weight in her chest, a tempest of anger and frustration churning within her. She longed to scream, to shatter something. She moved through the mansion's corridors with rigid control, oblivious to the bowing servants.

Reaching her room, she pushed the door shut with more force than necessary, the sharp bang a meager outlet for her pent-up emotions; the windows trembled faintly in their frames. "A mere village boy?" she scoffed, a harsh, mirthless laugh escaping her lips. If only he knew...

Evelyn drew her daggers and, in a fit of rage, flung them across the room. They embedded themselves in the wall with a sickening thud. "Damn them!" she hissed, her words laced with venom. Drained, she threw herself onto her bed, her hands fumbling with the pins of her immaculate bun until her hair cascaded down.

But the questions persisted, gnawing at her. Why was the king so fixated on a Neumond from a remote village? Evelyn knew there was a deeper game afoot, a hidden secret her uncle and her family were concealing. And she was resolved to uncover it, no matter the risks.