THE HUNT AND HUNTED

Asha ran through the rain-soaked streets of Veylan, her boots barely making a sound on the cobblestone. Behind her, Soren's men were in pursuit, their shouts echoing through the alleys. She forced herself to breathe evenly, ignoring the burning in her legs. She had been so close.

Her fingers clenched into fists. Killing Soren in the tavern had been reckless, but she had let her emotions take control. Now, she was being hunted.

She darted left, slipping through a narrow passageway between two buildings. The walls were slick with grime, but she used them to push off, vaulting over a stack of broken crates. She landed silently and continued running.

The footsteps behind her grew fainter.

Asha turned another corner and pressed herself into the shadows, her pulse hammering in her ears. She stayed perfectly still, slowing her breathing.

The guards rushed past the alley entrance, their torches flickering in the darkness.

"She can't have gone far!" one of them barked.

Asha waited until their footsteps faded. Then, she moved.

She needed to disappear, but first, she had to regroup. The failed assassination had cost her the element of surprise. Soren would be on high alert now. I need to think smarter.

She made her way toward the abandoned warehouse district near the docks. The city guards rarely patrolled there, and it was the perfect place to lay low.

When she reached an old storage building, she slipped inside through a broken window. Dust coated the air as she landed softly on the wooden floor.

Asha sat against the wall, exhaling slowly. She wiped the rain from her face and checked her weapons. Two daggers left. The others had been lost in the scuffle.

She leaned her head back, staring at the ceiling beams. The night had gone wrong, but she wasn't done. Soren was still breathing, and that was unacceptable.

Tomorrow, I strike again.

Morning in Veylan

Asha woke with the first light of dawn, her body sore but her mind sharper than ever. She knew where Soren would be—back at the barracks, hidden behind guards and stone walls. Getting to him would require more than just stealth.

She needed to draw him out.

She left the warehouse and moved through the city streets, her cloak pulled tight around her. The morning crowds were gathering, merchants setting up stalls, workers heading to their posts.

Asha's mind raced. What would force Soren out of hiding?

Then, she had an idea.

She made her way to a small apothecary near the market, where a hunched old man greeted her with wary eyes.

"You're early," he grumbled.

"I need a favor, Jorik," Asha said quietly, placing a small pouch of coins on the counter. "Something to spread a message."

Jorik narrowed his eyes but took the coins, weighing them in his palm. "What are you looking for?"

"Red ink," she said. "And paper."

Jorik gave her a long look before nodding. He disappeared into the back and returned with a small vial and a few sheets of rough parchment.

Asha dipped her finger into the ink and began to write.

The Message

By midday, the entire city was talking.

Notes had been pinned to every major street post, every market stall, and even the outer wall of the barracks. The ink was deep red—almost like blood.

Each note carried the same message:

"Green Hollow remembers. Soren Vale will die before the next moon."

The reaction was immediate. The barracks went into lockdown. Soldiers flooded the streets, searching for the one who had left the notes.

But Asha wasn't hiding. She was watching.

From the roof of a bakery, she spotted Soren himself riding out from the barracks, flanked by four of his best men. His face was grim, his mouth set in a thin line.

She smiled.

He was coming out to find her.

Just what she wanted.

The Trap

Asha had chosen her battleground carefully. The old district, where the ruined buildings of Veylan's past still stood, was the perfect place for an ambush. The streets were narrow, filled with broken carts and collapsed roofs—ideal for someone who knew how to disappear.

She perched on a second-story ledge, hidden by shadows, and waited.

Soren and his men arrived just after sundown. They dismounted, their boots crunching against the dirt.

"She's here," one of them muttered.

Soren scanned the darkened streets. "Come out, little assassin," he called. "You wanted my attention. Now you have it."

Asha didn't move. Not yet.

One of his men stepped forward cautiously. "Maybe it's a bluff—"

Asha struck.

She dropped from the ledge, landing behind the soldier. Before he could turn, she slit his throat and disappeared into the shadows.

The others reacted instantly, drawing their weapons.

"She's playing games," one of them snarled.

Soren, however, remained calm. "No games," he said. "She's hunting us."

He wasn't wrong.

Asha moved like a wraith, circling them. Another soldier turned too late—her dagger sank into his back.

"Two down," she murmured.

The remaining guards pressed their backs together, scanning the darkness.

Asha felt the adrenaline surge through her veins. This was where she thrived.

Soren finally drew his sword. "Enough hiding," he said. "Face me."

Asha stepped into the torchlight, her dagger gleaming. "I've waited a long time for this."

Soren smirked. "Then let's finish it."

He lunged.

Asha dodged, barely avoiding the strike. He was fast—faster than she expected. His blade cut through the air, missing her by inches. She retaliated, slashing at his side, but he parried easily.

Their weapons clashed, sparks flying. Asha twisted, aiming for his neck, but Soren countered, forcing her back.

"You're skilled," he admitted, breathing heavily. "But you're not strong enough."

Asha gritted her teeth. I don't need strength. I need precision.

She feinted left, then spun low, sweeping his legs. He stumbled, and that was all she needed.

She lunged, driving her dagger toward his heart—

But Soren caught her wrist.

Pain shot through her arm as he twisted, forcing her to drop the weapon.

Asha gasped as he slammed her against the wall, his sword pressing against her throat.

"I should kill you now," he growled.

She glared at him, breathing hard. "Then do it."

Soren hesitated.

And that was his mistake.

Asha's free hand moved like lightning. She pulled the small blade hidden in her sleeve and drove it into his side.

Soren gasped, staggering back.

Asha didn't hesitate. She grabbed her dagger from the ground and plunged it deep into his chest.

His eyes widened. He mouthed something—maybe a curse, maybe a prayer. Then, he fell.

Asha stood over him, panting. The battle was over.

She wiped her blade clean and disappeared into the night.

Soren Vale was dead.

But her vengeance was far from complete.