Chapter 20 - First Strike

Kieran had spent his entire second life watching from the shadows.

Now, the shadows were watching him.

The Keepers had revealed themselves—not with names, not with blades, but with silence.

A silence that carried a warning.

A silence that told him they were deciding what to do with him.

Kieran had no intention of waiting for their answer.

If the Keepers were planning to strike first, then he would make sure they regretted it.

He moved through the slums, his steps quick, purposeful.

The city was changing.

The war council had seen to that.

Rumors spread like wildfire.

Some said he was the king's new agent.

Others claimed he was Calderon's secret weapon.

But the people who truly mattered knew the truth—

Kieran had forced his way into power.

And now, his enemies would come for him.

The slumlord's den was quiet tonight.

Too quiet.

The moment Kieran entered, he felt it—a shift in the air.

The slumlord sat in her usual place, but she wasn't alone.

Across from her, seated in the flickering candlelight, was a man Kieran did not recognize.

But he recognized the feeling in the air.

A Keeper.

The slumlord's lips curled as Kieran stepped inside.

"I was wondering when you'd show up."

Kieran's gaze didn't leave the stranger.

"And I was wondering when they'd try to send a messenger."

The man chuckled.

"Not a messenger. An observer."

Kieran tilted his head.

"And what exactly are you observing?"

The Keeper's smile was sharp.

"Whether you truly belong at the table you just forced yourself into."

The slumlord sighed, swirling a glass of wine.

"This one came looking for you, Kieran. I figured I'd let him wait."

She leaned forward, amused.

"I assume he has something important to say."

The Keeper smiled.

"I do."

He turned back to Kieran.

"You made a bold move, stepping into the war council. Bold… but reckless."

"The ones who truly rule this kingdom do not tolerate unknown variables."

"They are prepared to remove you—permanently."

Kieran leaned forward.

"Then why haven't they?"

The Keeper's smile did not fade.

"Because some of us believe you can still be useful."

"You have two options, Kieran."

The Keeper's voice was calm.

"You can prove your loyalty."

"Or you can be erased."

Kieran smirked.

"Loyalty to what, exactly?"

The Keeper's eyes gleamed.

"To the true kingdom. The kingdom that exists beneath the lies of the throne."

Kieran exhaled slowly.

So this was their move.

They weren't trying to kill him.

Not yet.

They were trying to pull him in.

Trying to make him one of them.

Kieran pretended to consider.

"And how exactly do I prove myself?"

The Keeper's smile widened.

"A test."

Kieran expected as much.

"What kind of test?"

The Keeper's expression did not change.

"You will eliminate a problem for us."

The Keeper placed a parchment on the table.

Kieran picked it up.

A name.

Veyren Marrow.

His pulse slowed.

A name he already knew.

One of the three people who still held the truth about the war.

And now—the Keepers wanted him dead.

Kieran kept his expression unreadable.

"Why him?"

The Keeper's smile remained.

"Because he has become… inconvenient."

Kieran let the words settle.

This wasn't just about control.

This was about secrets.

Veyren Marrow knew something.

Something they didn't want Kieran to find out.

And now, they were handing him the perfect opportunity to get close to him.

Kieran leaned back in his chair.

"And if I refuse?"

The Keeper's smile vanished.

"Then you will not leave this room alive."

The slumlord sighed dramatically.

"Well, that's a bit extreme."

Kieran ignored her.

He knew he couldn't refuse.

Not yet.

If he did, he wouldn't get another chance.

And if they truly thought he was considering joining them…

Then that meant he had just found a way inside.

Kieran set the parchment down.

"Fine."

The Keeper's expression remained neutral, but Kieran could see it.

A flicker of satisfaction.

They thought they had won this round.

They thought they had pushed him into a corner.

But Kieran had already decided how this would end.

The Keepers wanted him to kill Veyren Marrow.

Instead, he was going to find him.

And together, they were going to burn the Keepers to the ground.

The Keeper stood, adjusting his cloak.

"You have three days."

His voice was final.

"Make the right choice, Kieran."

He turned and disappeared into the night.

Kieran watched him go, his mind already planning.

The slumlord took a slow sip of wine.

"Well. That was fun."

Kieran sighed.

"You let them find me."

She smirked.

"Of course I did. I wanted to see how you'd handle it."

Kieran shook his head.

"You play dangerous games."

She grinned.

"So do you."

Kieran stepped into the streets, the parchment still in his hands.

Three days.

Three days to find Veyren Marrow.

Three days to make his move.

The Keepers thought they had set the rules.

They thought they controlled the game.

But now, Kieran had his first real lead.

And before the three days were up—

He would make sure the Keepers regretted ever giving him a seat at their table.

Kieran walked the empty streets of the noble quarter, the name Veyren Marrow still burning in his mind.

The Keepers had made their move.

Now, it was his turn.

Three days.

That was all the time he had before the Keepers expected him to eliminate a man who could be his greatest ally.

If he played this wrong, he'd have enemies on both sides.

If he played it right?

He would unravel everything.

Veyren Marrow had once been a noble.

A man with power. A man who had stood against the war council before disappearing completely.

Official records claimed he had died years ago.

But the Keepers knew better.

And if they knew where to find him…

Then so could Kieran.

He needed information. Fast.

And there was only one place to get it.

Not from the nobles.

Not from the slums.

But from the ones who had spent years hunting men like Veyren.

The Black Hounds.

The kingdom's most ruthless bounty hunters.

The kind of men who didn't just track their targets.

They buried them.

The Black Hounds operated out of an abandoned chapel on the outskirts of the city.

A broken place of worship, its stone walls covered in tattered banners and stolen weapons.

Kieran approached without hesitation.

The moment he stepped inside, all eyes turned to him.

Not the usual eyes of criminals or thugs.

Eyes of hunters.

Men who had made a living finding ghosts.

Men who would sell their own mothers for the right price.

Kieran didn't flinch.

Because tonight, he was the one offering a deal.

A man stepped forward—broad-shouldered, covered in scars, a long dagger at his hip.

The leader of the Black Hounds.

A man known only as Grim.

"You have a death wish, boy?" Grim's voice was rough, like a blade grinding against stone.

Kieran smirked.

"Not tonight. But I do have business."

Grim raised an eyebrow.

"What kind of business?"

Kieran pulled out a golden seal from his cloak—an insignia from the war council.

A symbol of authority.

The kind of thing that made men listen.

"I need information."

"About what?"

Kieran tossed the parchment onto the table.

"Veyren Marrow."

The room went silent.

One of the hunters muttered something under his breath.

Another shifted uneasily.

Even Grim's expression darkened.

"That name ain't spoken here."

Kieran tilted his head.

"Then that means you know something."

Grim's eyes narrowed.

"Why do you care?"

Kieran smirked.

"Because I've been ordered to kill him."

The tension in the room grew sharper.

Grim exhaled through his nose.

"Then you're already a dead man."

Grim sat down, grabbing a bottle of whiskey from the table.

"Veyren Marrow should have died years ago. The war council made sure of that."

"But some men just don't know when to stay buried."

He poured a drink.

"The last confirmed sighting of him was five years ago. Some backwater town near the border."

Kieran leaned forward.

"And now?"

Grim's lips curled.

"No one knows. The bastard vanished. No trails, no whispers, nothing."

"But here's the thing, boy."

Grim's voice dropped slightly.

"Men like Veyren don't disappear unless they want to."

Kieran smiled.

"Then I just have to make him want to be found."

Kieran knew how men like Veyren thought.

If he had survived this long, he wouldn't reveal himself for just anyone.

But for someone hunting him?

For someone sent by the Keepers themselves?

That was different.

Kieran stood.

"Where was he last seen?"

Grim exhaled.

"A village in the northern highlands. A place called Hollow's Rest."

Kieran nodded.

"Then that's where I'll start."

Grim watched him carefully.

"You think it'll be that easy?"

Kieran shrugged.

"It never is."

Grim chuckled.

"At least you know that much."

Then—his amusement faded.

"One last thing, boy."

"If you find him, be careful."

Kieran frowned.

"Why?"

Grim's gaze darkened.

"Because men who cheat death don't tend to be the same when they come back."

Kieran felt a slow chill crawl down his spine.

Because that was a warning he knew all too well.

Kieran left the Black Hounds behind, stepping into the cold night air.

His next move was clear.

He had three days.

Three days to find Veyren Marrow.

Three days before the Keepers expected a corpse.

But instead of delivering them a dead man—

Kieran would turn Veyren into his greatest weapon.

Because if the Keepers feared him enough to order his execution?

Then he was exactly the kind of man Kieran needed.

And soon—

The Keepers would realize their mistake.

As he walked toward the outskirts of the city, the wind howled against the stone walls.

He had done this before.

Tracking a ghost.

Hunting a man who was never meant to be found.

But something about this felt… different.

Something felt wrong.

Like he wasn't just walking into the past.

The past was walking toward him.

And whatever waited for him in Hollow's Rest—

It would change everything.