The Phantom Noble

Kael moved through the dimly lit street with a steady, measured pace, the weight of the city's silence pressing against him. Ormanthus had a pulse, a rhythm that was almost imperceptible to outsiders, but he could feel it. The sension in the air, the unspoken rules lurking beneath the surface–it was a city where power played in the shadows, where the strong fed on the weak, and the cunning thrived in deception.

He pulled up the hood of his cloak. He had always had one but never had the need to use it until now. Adjusting it as he blends in with the evening shadow as he heads towards the meeting spot where Zarex told him. An old, half-abandoned inn at the far end of the merchant district. It wasn't the kind of place that welcomed honest folk. The sign above the door hung by a single rusted chain, barely legible under years of grime, and the stench of the stench of cheap ale and desperation clung to the air like a disease.

Inside, Zarex was already waiting, seated at a corner table with a tankard of something dark and thick in his hand. He barely looked up as Kael approached.

"He's inside," Zarex muttered, tilting his head toward the back of the inn. "Upstairs. Didn't put up much of a fight"

Kael slid into the seat across from him, his fingers drumming lightly against the wooden table. "That easy?"

Zarex smirked. "He thinks he's untouchable. Didn't even realize we were onto him."

Kael glanced toward the stairwell. The man they were after–Thaddeus Wren–had made a career of slipping through the cracks, selling out his fellow soldiers and guards for coin. He was a man who spoke only when the price was right. Tonight, Kael intended to make him speak for free.

He stood, hisn steps controlled, deliberate, as he ascended the creaking stairs. Zarex followed behind, his presence a silent threat.

At the end of the hall, a single oil lamp flickered behind a warped wooden door. Kael pushed it open without hesitation. Thaddeus was bound to a chair, his wrists tied behind him with thick rope. He looked up as they entered, his expression shifting from forced defiance to something closer to uncertainty.

"You don't know who you're messing with," Thaddeus spat. "I have connections—"

Kael slammed the door shut behind him. "And I have time. Lets see which one of us runs out first"

Thaddeus swallowed hard.

Zarex leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching like a wolf waiting for the kill.

Kael crouched in front of their prisoner, leveling him with a cold, piercing stare. "You've been selling information to the wrong people, Thaddeus. The kind of people who know more than they should about things that don't concern them."

Thaddeus shifted in his seat, testing the bonds. They held firm.

"I don't know what youre talking about," he said, but his voice wavered just enough for Kael to catch it.

Kael reached into his cloak and unsheathed his battle worn sword, turning it lazily in his fingers. "Even though it's beaten and worn, it can still do a lot of damage to a person. I have a lot of patience for many things—-betrayal, manipulation, even a bit of treachery—but lying? That gets under my skin." Of course, he was lying the entire time.

The glint of the blade caught the light as he pressed the tip just under Thaddeus' chin, forcing his head up. "You've been working with a noble connected to the church of Fate. Don't insult me by pretending otherwise."

Thaddues hesitated—just for a breath—but it was enough.

Kael leaned in, lowering his voice to a cold emotionless whisper. "Do you feel that?" His aura flared ever so slightly, and the pressure in the room thickened. "That's the weight of inevitability, Thaddeus. You're going to talk. The only question is whether you'll do it with all your fingers intact."

Thaddeus' resolve cracked. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple.

"The noble…" His voice was hoarse. "Lord Everand. He's the one you're looking for."

Kael exchanged a glance with Zarex, who gave a satisfied nod.

"Where?" Kel pressed.

"There's a gathering," Thaddeus rasped. "Tomorrow night. Private estate on the eastern side of the city. High ranking merchants, nobles… some from the church." He licked his lips, desperate now. "That's all I know, I swear."

Kael studied him for a moment before standing. He sheathed his sword and turned to Zarex. "He's all yours."

Thaddeus' eyes wide with fear. "Wait—" Zarex grinned. "Relax. I'm just making sure you don't do anything…unfortunate after we leave."

Kael was already walking toward the door. They had what they needed. Tomorrow night, they will step into the lion's den. And when they do, they will unravel every secret or mystery they try to hide from us. But as he reaches out to open the door, he stops. An idea formed in his head.

Kael turned and walked back to Thaddeus with slow, deliberate steps. The dim light of the room cast long shadows, stretching out behind him like specters of his past. Seeing this, Thaddeus tensed, his fingers twitching slightly at his sides. His instincts screamed at him—this young man was unnatural. A force beyond comprehension. Something far more dangerous than he had first assumed.

Beside him, Zarex observed silently, arms crossed, his sharp gaze flickering between Kael and Thaddeus. Unlike Thaddeus, he didn't flinch, but there was an undeniable curiosity in his eyes, as if trying to unravel the mystery standing before him.

Kael stopped inches from Thaddeus, looming over him with an unnerving stillness. His dark eyes, deep pools of something unreadable—something vast, relentless—bored into Thaddeus like a predator sizing up prey. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating.

"Make us fake identities so we can get into the meeting," Kael commanded, his voice low and measured, yet carrying a weight that sent a chill down Thaddeus' spine. "You have a list of attendees, don't you?"

Thaddeus swallowed hard. His throat felt dry, as if all the moisture had been sucked out of the air. He nodded hesitantly, feeling a strange pressure settle over him, like an invisible hand tightening around his lungs. "Y-Yeah… I can get you new identities. And the list."

Kael nodded, satisfied. "And good clothes," he added. "We'll need them."

The room's oppressive silence shattered with a sharp metallic whisper. Kael's sword flashed in the dim light, cutting through the thick ropes that bound him in one fluid motion. The severed restraints thumped lifelessly to the ground, an audible symbol of his regained control.

Sheathing his blade with an air of finality, Kael took a step closer, his voice edged with a quiet menace. "I'll watch over you myself."

Thaddeus stiffened. The unspoken threat lingered in the air, thick and tangible. There would be no betrayal. No second chances.

Kael turned his head toward Zarex, who had remained silent throughout the exchange. The man stood motionless, his posture unreadable, though the flicker of interest in his expression hadn't faded.

"Go back and inform the others," Kael instructed, his tone unwavering. "Let them know what we're doing and make sure they're ready."

Zarex studied him for a moment, then gave a slow nod. He didn't question Kael's authority. He didn't ask for a plan. He simply accepted it, as if he understood something about Kael that Thaddeus had yet to grasp.

As Zarex turned to leave, Kael's gaze returned to Thaddeus, his expression unreadable.

"Time is short." His voice was calm, but there was no mistaking the command in it. "Get to work."

Thaddeus exhaled sharply, modding as he wiped the sweat from his brow. His hands were shaking slightly, though he tried to steady them. He wasn't sure what it was about Kael that made him feel like prey, but the feeling was suffocating. He turned quickly, moving toward his desk where scattered papers and ink bottles lay in disarray.

"I'll need a few minutes," he muttered, reaching for a fresh set of parchment. His fingers fumbled slightly, betraying his nerves. Kael didnt respond. He simply moved behind Thaddeus, watching over his shoulder, close enough that the tension was suffocating.

Zarex, now standing near the exit, glanced back at them before stepping out into the night. His footsteps faded into the distance.

Thaddeus forced himself to focus, dipping his quill into the ink and beginning to write. The names, the seals, the details–everything had to be perfect. If even one mistake was made, it wouldn't just be their lives at risk—it would be his too.

The scratching of the quill filled the dim, silent room, the only sound between them. But Kael's presence never faded. He was still there, standing over him like a shadow, his dark eyes unreadable.

After several tense minutes, Thaddeus finally set the quill down and carefully fanned the parchment to dry the ink. He cleared his throat. "It's done."

Kael reached forward, taking the documents without a word. His gaze flicked over them, scanning each detail with practised precision.

A slow nod. "Good."

Thaddeus let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "The clothes… They Are in the back room. Take what you need."

Kael didn't hesitate. He moved across the room with swift efficiency, disappearing into the adjacent chamber. Thaddeus let himself sag slightly in his chair, running a hand down his face. He had worked with dangerous people before, but Kael was something different. Something unnatural.

Something unstoppable.

The thought sent a shiver through him.

Moments later, Kael reemerged, dressed in dark, noble attire—subtle, expensive, but not ostentatious. The kind of clothing worn by someone important enough to be at the meeting but not important enough to be remembered. It suited him almost too well.

Kael tucked the documents into the folds of his coat and turned to Thaddeus one last time.

"You're coming with me."

Thaddeus' blood ran cold. "What? Why?"

Kaels expression remained unreadable. "Because I don't trust you."

The words were simple. Inevitable.

Thaddeus swallowed. There was no arguing. No escape.

He was trapped in Kael's game now.

And he had no choice but to play along.

The next day arrives as it quickly falls to night. Thaddeus exhales, rubbing his temples as if trying to suppress the dread building in his gut. "Alright," he mutters, straightening up. "If we're doing this, we need to move quickly. The meeting starts in two hours."

Kael gives a curt nod, adjusting the cuffs of his coat before glancing toward the door. "Then lead the way."

Thaddeus hesitates. "We can't just walk up to the entrance together. There will be checkpoints. I have a carriage waiting, but you and your companion should arrive separately. It'll look less suspicious that way."

Kael considers this for a moment. It makes sense. "Fine. Where's the carriage?"

Thaddeus gestures toward the back of the building. "There's a passage through the alley that leads to a private lot. The driver is already aware of the plan. You'll take the carriage first, and I'll follow later with another group."

Kael glances at Zarex, who nods, already grasping his role. "I'll be the contingency. If anything happens inside, I'll cause a distraction from the outside."

Thaddeus frowns. "Just don't get us all killed."

Kael steps forward, his expression cold and unreadable. "Then do your job right, and we won't have to worry about that."

Without another word, he strides toward the back exit. Thaddeus and Zarex exchange a glance, but neither speaks. The tension in the room lingers even as Kael disappears into the shadows of the alley.

The carriage rolls steadily over the cobbled streets, its interior dimly lit by a lantern swaying from the ceiling. Kael sits with his hands clasped together, his dark eyes staring out the small window as the city passes by.

The meeting is more than just a gamble—it's an opportunity. A way to understand the forces shaping the world, to see the strings being pulled behind the scenes. And if necessary, to cut them.

His thoughts are interrupted when the carriage slows. A muffled exchange occurs between the driver and someone outside. Kael shifts slightly, his hand resting near his concealed dagger.

Then—knock, knock. Two taps on the door.

The prearranged signal.

Kael opens the carriage door slightly. A hooded figure stands there, their face partially obscured. "We have a problem," they whisper.

Kael's fingers tighten around the dagger's hilt. "Explain."

The figure glances nervously. "There's been a last-minute security change. New enforcers—ones we didn't account for."

Kaels expression remains calm, but his mind sharpens.This wasn't too unexpected. "How thorough are they?"

"Thorough enough to spot a weak alias," the figure mutters. "They're checking names against a secondary registry. If they compare your identity to the real list…"

Kael exhales slowly, considering his options. His forged identity should hold under casual scrutiny, but if they had access to deeper records, things could get complicated.

"We still have a way in," the figure continues. "There's an alternative entrance, but it's riskier. Less security, but if you're caught, there won't be a way to talk your way out."

Kael leans back slightly, mulling over the decision.

Option one: stick to the plan, hope the forged documents hold up.

Option two: take the back entrance, avoid the main security but increase the risk if caught.

His fingers drum against his knee as he makes his choice.

Kael exhales, glancing once more at the dimly lit streets beyond the carriage window. "We'll take the back entrance," he decides, voice calm but firm.

The hooded figure nods hurriedly. "Follow me. Stay close and don't draw attention."

Kael steps out of the carriage, pulling the hood of his borrowed coat further over his head. He moves with measured, confident strides—he may be slipping through the shadows, but his presence never wavers. If anything, it commands the night itself to make way.

The figure leads him through a narrow alley, the scent of damp stone and distant smoke filling the air. The streets here are less traveled, an area only those familiar with the cities underbelly would know.

They reach a nondescript wooden door built into the side of a towering structure. A single iron lantern flickers above it, casting just enough light to reveal a set of heavy bolts and a small, circular peephole. The hooded figure knocks once, pauses, then knocks twice more.

A moment of silence.

Then, the peephole slides open, revealing a pair of sharp, scrutinizing eyes. "Password?"

"Whisper of gold, shadow of steel," the hooded figure replies.

The eyes study them for a moment longer before the bolts slide open with a dull clunk. The door creaks as it opens, revealing a narrow passage lined with crates and the stale of parchment and ink.

Kael steps inside, immediately assessing the area. The passage curves sharply ahead, likely leading toward the building's interior. A single guard—stocky, with a hand resting near his belt—watches them enter, but Kael doesn't falter. Instead, he straightens his posture, exuding the kind of authority expected from a highborn noble.

The guards eyes flick between them, suspicion evident. "You don't look familiar," he mutters, directing his words towards Kael.

Kael fixes him with a cold stare, his voice like steel wrapped in silk. "And you don't look important enough to question me."

The guard stiffens slightly, but Kael presses forward before he can react. "You think a noble with business at this meeting is going to stop for idle conversation? If I were you, I'd focus on the job you were actually hired to do."

The sheer weight of his presence makes the guard hesitate. Kael can see the internal battle playing out in his eyes—doubt, uncertainty, the fear of offending someone far above his station.

The moment stretches.

Then, begrudgingly, the guard steps aside. "Go on, then," he grumbles.

Kael doesn't acknowledge him further. He simply strides past, his controlled steps echoing slightly as he disappears around the bend.

The corridor opens into a grand chamber, lined with towering marble columns and a vast, circular table at its center. Flickering chandeliers cast long shadows across the room, illuminating a collection of nobles, merchants, and powerful figures engaged in hushed conversations.

Kael moves toward an empty seat, scanning the faces present. He recognizes some of them—people with influence, people who pull the strings of entire nations.

But what interests him more is the tension in the air. Something is about to happen.

And Kael intends to find out exactly what it is.

Kael strides forward with purpose, his presence carving through the murmurs in the room like a blade through silk. The conversation quiets slightly as those closest to him take notice. Some glance in his direction, others feign disinterest—but he can feel their curiosity sharpening, their instincts recognizing something imposing in the air.

He doesn't wait for permission to speak.

Instead, he pulls out the high-backed chair nearest to the central figures and sits.

Not as an observer.

Not as a guest.

But as if he belonged there more than anyone else in the room.

He leans forward slightly, resting one gloved hand on the polished table. His dark eyes, cold and unreadable, sweep across the gathering before settling on the man who appears to hold the most influence—a silver-haired noble with a thick ceremonial sash and a calculating gaze.

Kael speaks, his voice smooth but edged with quiet authority.

"I am Lord Varian Duskveil of Veridion."

The name rolls off his tongue effortlessly, his false identity given weight through sheer conviction. The noble across from him tilts his head slightly, appraising him. Kael offers nothing but an expectant look, as if daring the man to challenge his claim.

A silence lingers, thick with tension. Then, the silver-haired noble exhales through his nose and leans back in his chair.

"…Lord Duskveil," he finally acknowledges. "An unexpected guest. I don't recall seeing your name on our list."

Kael doesn't blink. "That's because I wasn't meant to be on a list."

Several of the gathered figures exchange glances. Some are intrigued, others wary. The noble studies him carefully, but Kael's unshakable posture leaves no room for doubt. He doesn't act like someone seeking approval—he acts like someone who should have been here from the start.

The noble finally smirks, a knowing glint in his eye. "You carry yourself with certainty, Lord Duskveil. But tell me… if you weren't expected, then what brings you here?"

Kael leans in slightly, lowering his voice just enough to draw them in.

"I came because I deal in power. And I know power when I see it."

The room stills.

A statement like that—bold, deliberate—demands attention. It suggests knowledge, influence, and the kind of ruthless ambition that those in this room understand all too well.

Kael lets the words settle before he speaks again, his tone as sharp as a drawn blade.

"I've heard whispers of what's being discussed tonight. And I'm here to ensure that my interests align with the right ones."

The noble across from him chuckles, the sound slow and measured. "And whose interests, exactly, would those be?"

Kael finally smiles—but it isn't warm. It's the kind of smile that hides the dagger until it's already against your throat.

"The winning side."

The air in the chamber shifts. Some look intrigued, others cautious. But no one dismisses him.

Because in a room full of schemers, manipulators, and men who pull the strings of nations—Kael has just declared himself a player.