A BLADE IN THE DARK

Asha crouched on the rooftop, her breath steady despite the cold wind biting at her skin. Below her, the streets of Veylan pulsed with the glow of lanterns and the low murmur of voices. The marketplace had emptied, leaving only the occasional patrol of Lord Renic's guards. They moved in pairs, their armor clanking softly with each step.

She had spent weeks watching their routines, memorizing their paths. Tonight, she would act.

Her target, Captain Soren Vale, was responsible for the massacre at Green Hollow—the village where her family had perished. He was Renic's most loyal enforcer, a man who followed orders without question, no matter how cruel. Asha had seen him firsthand on the night of the attack, his blade dripping with the blood of innocents. She would never forget the way he had laughed as he cut down those who begged for mercy.

She tightened her grip on the dagger strapped to her thigh.

From the rooftop, she spotted him through the narrow window of the tavern below. Soren sat at a corner table, surrounded by his men. His dark beard was streaked with gray, and his heavy fur cloak was damp from the night's rain. A tankard of ale sat in front of him, but he barely touched it. He was a cautious man, never drinking more than a few sips.

Asha took a deep breath. No mistakes.

She descended swiftly, using the wooden beams of the adjacent building to lower herself into the alley. The shadows embraced her as she moved along the tavern's side, reaching the back door. A guard stood watch, but he was distracted, his back turned as he muttered complaints about the cold.

Silent as a wraith, she crept closer. In one fluid motion, she wrapped an arm around his neck and drove her dagger between his ribs. A soft gasp escaped his lips before he slumped against her. She lowered him gently to the ground, his lifeless body hidden in the shadows.

Asha wiped her blade clean and slipped inside.

The tavern's kitchen was empty save for a lone servant washing dishes. He barely glanced up as she passed. Moving swiftly through the narrow corridor, she reached the main hall. The smell of roasted meat and spilled ale filled the air. The laughter of soldiers echoed around her, but she focused only on Soren.

He was deep in conversation with another officer, his brows furrowed in thought. This was her moment.

Asha moved between the tables, each step calculated, every movement blending seamlessly into the dimly lit room. Her hood concealed most of her face, and the loose-fitting cloak disguised her weapons. She stopped just behind Soren's chair.

With a flick of her wrist, she drew her dagger and pressed it against his throat.

"Don't move," she whispered.

The laughter at the table halted. The other soldiers tensed, hands reaching for their weapons. Soren, however, did not flinch.

"Well now," he said calmly, his voice smooth despite the blade at his neck. "This is a bold move, little assassin."

Asha didn't answer. Her grip tightened. "You slaughtered Green Hollow."

Soren exhaled through his nose, almost amused. "Ah. Another survivor. You're the second one this month."

Asha's heart pounded, but she didn't let the surprise show. There were others?

Before she could react, Soren moved. In a blur, he twisted to the side, knocking her arm away just as one of his men lunged. Asha spun, dodging the attack as she slashed upward, cutting across the soldier's arm. He howled in pain, stumbling back.

Chaos erupted.

Soren flipped the table, sending mugs and plates crashing to the floor. The soldiers surged forward, blades drawn. Asha ducked beneath a wild swing and kicked a chair into another attacker's path. She had to move—staying in one place would mean death.

She leaped onto the table, using it as a springboard to grab hold of the ceiling beam. Swinging forward, she propelled herself over the heads of the men, landing near the back entrance.

Soren was already moving toward her, his sword drawn.

Asha threw a dagger. He deflected it with a flick of his blade.

She turned and bolted through the door.

The alley was slick with rain. She ran, her feet barely touching the ground. Behind her, Soren's men shouted orders.

She had failed. But this wasn't over.

Not yet.

As she disappeared into the shadows, she made herself a promise: Soren Vale would die by her hand.