Henry Blackwood [1]

The candle's flame wavered, casting flickering shadows against the stone walls of Henry's secluded hideout.

The damp air carried the scent of old parchment and steel, a quiet reminder of the life he had built in the underworld—one where death was a currency, and silence was the only promise ever kept.

The letter lay in his hands, its weight far heavier than mere wax and paper.

His fingers ghosted over the seal—the crest of an unknown hand, pressed into hardened crimson wax.

Graves had not written this lightly.

That much was clear.

He inhaled slowly, his mind already dissecting the possibilities.

'A test?'

'A warning?'

'Or something worse—an invitation?'

The blade of his dagger whispered against the wax as he broke the seal.

The parchment inside was smooth, the ink bold against the yellowed page.

And as he unfolded it, the words struck him like a dagger to the ribs.

— — — [ Letter ] — — —

To the one who walks the path of shadows,

There comes a moment in every man's life where he stands at the precipice of something greater than himself. You, Henry Blackwood, have reached that precipice. You are no mere assassin. You are not just a blade in the dark. You are a hand upon the strings of fate, plucking at a melody long forgotten by the world.

You believe this task to be simple—a retrieval, a theft, an execution of duty. But what you fail to realize is that you are not merely taking a key. You are unearthing something that was meant to stay buried. Something older than the names whispered in fear. Older than the bloodlines that claim dominion over this wretched world.

This vault—this door you seek to unlock—does not contain gold, nor artifacts of war. It holds knowledge. A knowledge that rewrites the very foundations upon which power is built. And once you look upon it, once you grasp even a fragment of its truth, there is no turning back.

You will not be the same. You will not be permitted to remain as you are.

You will either ascend—or you will perish.

— — — — — —

Henry's fingers tightened around the parchment, his breath slow, controlled, but weighted.

'Knowledge. That word again.'

It was a word men feared.

A word that had brought down empires, turned kings into tyrants, and gods into myths.

And here it was, written plainly, as if it were merely another trinket to be acquired.

He read on.

— — — — — —

You are not the first to seek this door. Nor will you be the last. But what sets you apart, Henry, is not your skill, nor your blade. It is the weight of the choices you carry, the chains you refuse to break, even as they drag you deeper into the abyss.

You are a man of precision, of logic, of ruthless efficiency. But tell me, assassin—have you ever stopped to wonder if the hand guiding your blade is truly your own? Or have you simply been playing a role in a story written long before you were ever born?

Azrael Darkbrone is no fool. He does not send men to retrieve trinkets. He sends them to erase obstacles. To burn away history that does not align with his vision of the world. If you believe that this key is merely a tool to further his ambition, then you are already lost.

This is not a key to power. It is a threshold. And what lies beyond it… will demand more from you than you are prepared to give.

— — — — — —

Henry exhaled, slow and deep, his heartbeat a steady drum against his ribs.

The candle flickered again, and for the first time in a long while, he felt something unfamiliar settle in his chest.

Not fear.

Not hesitation.

But unease.

He had spent his life carving through flesh, moving like a shadow between the cracks of civilization.

He had hunted men who thought themselves untouchable, whispered names that had never been meant to be spoken aloud.

And yet…

'This feels different.'

He scanned the final lines.

— — — — — —

You are at a crossroads, Henry Blackwood.

You can take this key and deliver it to the one who sent you.

You can fulfill your mission, claim your reward, and continue the life you have always known.

Or you can step forward.

You can turn the key, open the door, and embrace what awaits you beyond the veil of ignorance.

But understand this—once you see, you cannot unsee.

Once you know, you cannot unknow.

And if you choose to walk this path, the world will no longer be the same to you.

Choose wisely.

For this decision is not merely yours.

It is one that has been waiting for you for a very, very long time.

~ V. Graves

— — — [End] — — —

Silence.

Only the crackling of the candle and the steady rhythm of his own breath remained.

Henry closed his eyes for a brief moment, letting the weight of the words settle over him like a shroud.

And then, he did something he had not done in a long, long time.

He laughed.

A slow, humorless chuckle, one that held neither mirth nor amusement.

"Choices, is it?"

He murmured, rolling the parchment between his fingers.

"As if I ever truly had one."

He leaned back, his eyes tracing the ceiling, the shadows cast by the flickering candlelight twisting like unseen specters.

This was no ordinary mission.

No simple job.

The path before him was no longer one of mere survival.

It was a path that led to something else entirely.

And Henry Blackwood was nothing if not a man willing to walk through fire to see what lay on the other side.