The First Move

The nighttime air had descended into a dark, quiet stillness, though it was not comforting.

Not anymore.

The fortress had never exactly been secure, but recently, something had shifted. As though even the walls had begun to draw breath.

Rodric's warning had not left my mind.

"You're looking for a grave, you hear?"

He was no longer talking only about Aldric. He had been talking about us.

And now, I understood why.

….

We walked through the halls with purpose, not urgency. We were not running, but we were not waiting.

Asura went first, dagger at her side, moving silently, though not too quietly. She hadn't said muchsince we discovered the name.

I didn't need her to. I knew what her silence meant.

It meant she was thinking. Calculating. Observing the fringes of the world that most people were never interested in.

We made it to the outer courtyard, the torches flickering low. Only a few knights stationed at the gate gave us a second look.

I let out a slow breath. We weren't being stopped. That was good.

But something still felt off.

Asura must have felt it as well, as the slight flicker of her posture pivoted.

Then, a whisper.

Not spoken aloud.

Not even eavesdropped on in the usual way.

But felt.

A presence. A weight in the air.

And then—a voice.

"Too late to turn back."

I acted on instinct, shifting my weight and reaching for my weapon.

Asura was faster.

Her dagger was in her hand before I could blink, body low and sharp. Eyes scanning. Searching.

But there was no one there.

The torches flickered.

The night wind shifted.

Then — a shadow at the far edge of the courtyard.

Not a trick of the light. Not an illusion.

Someone was standing there.

Watching.

The Hunters Among the Dead

The figure stepped forward.

Slow. Unhurried.

Like they already knew we were no threat.

It was the way they moved that I noticed first, not their face. Precise. Controlled. So easy, the way that the most dangerous people were.

A knotted cloak draped over their shoulders, not the sort worn by the garrison at the fortress.

It was older. Worn.

I exhaled through my nose. "You were a knight."

The figure stopped several paces forward, eying me with one head tilted to the side.

"We all were."

The words made their way through me, a slow chill.

Asura didn't move. She was tracking every detail, every wrinkle, every breath.

She already understood.

This wasn't just a warning.

This was an introduction.

At last, the figure stepped into the torchlight.

A man. Mid-thirties, maybe older. Their hair was cut short, and a face was covered with old wounds, but his eyes were sharp. Focused.

Not a ghost.

Not a memory.

A soldier who had fought another war.

A survivor of something we had only just started to learn about.

And by the way, he looked down at us — he had been waiting for this moment for a while.

The First of Many

I held my ground. "Who are you?"

The man sighed, looking at me as if I were a puzzle he'd already solved.

Then—"Does it matter?"

My fingers twitched. "It does to me."

A long pause. Then, at last — "Call me Varin."

The name meant nothing to me.

However, the way he said it made me know it should have.

I looked at Asura but she was unreadable.

Varin's eyes rested on her before returning to me. "I expected more."

A slow, deliberate insult.

I clenched my jaw. "From what?"

He tilted his head, as if thinking over his response. Then — "From those who believe they're near the truth."

The words sank in.

I kept my breathing steady. "And what truth is that?"

Varin smiled. But it wasn't humor.

It was something colder.

"That you don't matter."

A Test We Didn't Ask For

The air changed; the tension broke.

I realized it a moment too late.

Varin moved.

Fast.

Not just fast—unnatural.

He covered the distance in a heartbeat, and before I could even react, his blade was already slicing toward me.

I had to twist, narrowly avoiding it, feeling the rush of the blade pass too close to my ribs.

Asura was already moving.

Her dagger glinted as she intercepted his second blow, her expression was all business, all razor edge.

Varin didn't falter. He shifted mid-motion, flowing from one strike to the next as soon as the first one connected.

He was playing with us.

Not just fighting. Testing. Measuring.

I forced myself to breathe.

This wasn't just a knight.

This was something else.

Varin acted with the efficiency of a soldier, but the control of a man who had chosen to leave behind a war and master something worse.

He wasn't here to kill us.

Not yet.

He was here to evaluate whether we were worthwhile....