Chapter 8 – Shadows in the Ash

Aldric moved through the ruins of Whitebridge, his steps slow but sure, his senses stretched thin across the silent streets that had become his hunting ground. The wind carried the scent of blood, cold stone, and something older—the lingering remnants of death that had long since settled into the bones of this place.

The city was not just abandoned. It was forsaken.

The towering structures that had once stood as symbols of power and wealth were now nothing more than skeletal remains, their shattered facades crumbling beneath the weight of time. Every shadow seemed to stretch unnaturally, clinging to the ruined streets as if afraid to release their grasp on the past. The echoes of old battles still whispered through the air, faint and nearly forgotten, but not entirely gone.

Some wounds never truly healed.

Aldric's fingers brushed against the cold hilt of King's End, the Abyssal greatsword resting against his back. He could still feel the faint roar of power beneath his grip, as if the weapon were more than just steel, more than just a tool of war—it was a presence, watching, waiting, perhaps even whispering in a language he had yet to understand.

The mercenaries' bodies still lay where they had fallen, their lifeblood staining the broken cobblestones, seeping into the cracks like ink bleeding into parchment. Their faces were frozen in expressions of pain and shock, their deaths swift and without ceremony. No one would mourn them. No one would remember them.

And yet, Aldric knew this was only the beginning.

He reached down, picking up the burnt remnants of the scrolls he had found on one of the bodies, the edges curling with heat where the flames had devoured it. Even with most of the words lost, the meaning was clear—they had been sent to kill him.

Someone knew.

Someone had discovered that he still walked this earth, that death had failed to claim him, and now they sought to correct that mistake.

Aldric's grip tightened around the burned scrap of paper before he let it fall from his fingers, the wind carrying it away like a ghost of a message never meant to be read.

Let them come.

He would carve his answer into their flesh.

A distant sound pulled him from his thoughts.

A flicker of movement, subtle but there, shifting in the periphery of his vision.

Aldric didn't react, didn't tense, didn't let the change in his breathing betray that he had noticed. Instead, he turned his head slightly, his gaze tracing the broken alleys and collapsed rooftops, his instincts sharpening.

He wasn't alone.

Something watched him from the ruins, something that moved with the careful, deliberate patience of a predator that had been waiting for the right moment to strike.

Aldric exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders as if he had no concerns in the world.

Then, without warning—he vanished into the shadows.

Aldric moved like a shadow through the crumbling remnants of Whitebridge, his form blending into the ruins as if he had always belonged there. The city was vast, its empty corridors and broken streets stretching in all directions, but to him, it was a battlefield waiting to be claimed, a maze that offered both danger and opportunity in equal measure.

His pulse remained steady as he moved between the collapsed buildings, using the cover of the twisted stone and shattered walls to mask his presence. He had lived through enough battles to know that when the enemy moved unseen, it was best to become unseen as well.

And right now, something was hunting him.

The movement had been subtle, a flicker of presence on the edge of his awareness, but he knew better than to ignore it. In places like this, where death was moved into the very fabric of the air, the things that watched from the darkness were rarely weak.

Aldric crouched near the remains of an ancient fountain, its once-proud statue now reduced to little more than a jagged ruin, its base cracked and filled with stagnant water that reeked of decay. He listened, his focus shifting from sight to sound, attuning himself to the silence that had settled over the ruins.

There.

The faintest scrape of movement—light, careful, but not careful enough. Someone—or something—was trying to mask their steps, but even the most disciplined steps left traces when they moved through a place as dead as this.

Aldric turned his head slowly, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the darkened alleyway that cut between the remains of two old merchant halls. The shadows pooled unnaturally there, thick and deep, as if reluctant to let the light touch them.

He exhaled, shifting his weight slightly.

Then—a flash of steel.

A figure lunged from the darkness, their blade moving in a sharp slash meant to slice through his throat in a single, fluid strike.

Aldric was already moving.

He twisted, dodging the attack with practiced ease, his muscles coiling as he brought King's End free from its sheath in a single, controlled motion. The clash of metal rang through the empty streets as their blades met, sparks flying from the force of the impact.

His attacker wasted no time. They moved with precision, their strikes swift and calculated, pressing the assault without hesitation. Aldric's eyes flicked over their form in an instant, observing the details that mattered—light armor, a dagger at the hip, a mask covering the lower half of their face.

Not a mercenary.

An assassin.

And they were skilled.

Aldric parried a second blow, stepping backward as his opponent adjusted, using the terrain to their advantage. They fought with a style meant for quick, efficient kills, meant to end fights before they truly began.

But Aldric was no ordinary target.

He blocked a downward strike, then twisted, using his greater strength to knock his attacker off balance. Their feet slid against the loose stone, but they recovered quickly, flipping backward and landing in a low crouch.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Aldric could hear his opponent's breathing, steady and controlled despite the fight. Their eyes, dark and sharp, locked onto his with something close to curiosity.

They hadn't expected him to be this fast. This strong.

Aldric smirked, rolling his shoulders. "You're quick. But not quick enough."

The assassin said nothing.

Then, without a word, they vanished back into the shadows.

Aldric stood motionless, his breath steady, his grip firm on King's End as the assassin melted into the darkness, their presence vanishing as if they had never been there at all.

But he knew better.

They were still close.

Watching.

Waiting.

The ruins of Whitebridge stretched around him in silent witness, the remnants of its former glory now reduced to crumbling stone and fractured streets. The air was thick with the scent of old death, and in the distance, the wind howled through shattered towers like the whispers of the forgotten.

Aldric took a slow step forward, his boots crunching softly against loose rubble. His body remained loose, controlled, his senses attuned to every shift in the shadows.

The assassin was fast. Precise. But they had made a mistake.

They had tested him.

And now it was his turn.

A flicker of movement—subtle, just beyond his line of sight. A disturbance in the stillness. A hesitation, almost imperceptible, but there.

Aldric moved.

He twisted, bringing King's End up in a powerful slash just as the assassin lunged from the darkness, their dagger gleaming under the fractured moonlight.

The clash of steel rang out once more, sparks flying from the impact as the force of his strike sent them flying backward.

This time, Aldric didn't give them room to recover.

He surged forward, his blade carving through the air with brutal precision. The assassin dodged, their movements fluid, almost unnatural in their grace, but Aldric was relentless. He had seen their speed. He had measured their reach. And now, he would break them.

A feint. A sudden step to the left. A downward slash meant to cripple.

The assassin barely managed to twist away, but Aldric's blade still found its mark, grazing their side and drawing a sharp, crimson line across the dark fabric of their armor.

They staggered, their breath hitching for the briefest second.

Aldric pressed forward, his instincts sharpening as the Abyss stirred beneath his skin. King's End pulsed in his grip, hungry for more, whispering of a deeper strength if he would only reach for it.

The assassin's stance shifted. No longer aggressive. Defensive.

They knew they couldn't win in a direct fight.

Aldric leveled his blade, watching them. "You picked the wrong target."

The assassin's breathing was controlled, but there was a change now—an edge of frustration. A realization that whatever plan they had entered this fight with had just crumbled beneath them.

For the first time, they spoke.

"We'll see."

Then, in a blur of motion, they turned and vanished into the ruins once more.

But this time, it was not a retreat.

It was a warning.

And Aldric was listening.

Aldric stood still, his blade lowered but his senses sharp, his breath steady despite the tension still thick in the air. The assassin was gone, their presence fading into the vast, broken labyrinth of Whitebridge's ruins, but the weight of their words remained.

"We'll see." - Aldric said to himself

Not a surrender.

A promise.

The wind howled through the remnants of the city, carrying with it the distant creak of shattered structures, the silent murmurs of something unseen lurking beyond sight. Aldric's grip tightened around King's End, the weapon pulsing faintly, as if acknowledging the unspoken challenge.

They hadn't come to kill him outright.

They had come to test him.

Aldric exhaled, rolling his shoulders before turning away from the alley where the assassin had disappeared. He didn't chase them—not yet. This was a battle of patience, and patience was something he had learned well in death.

The mercenaries had come for his corpse. The assassin had come to measure his worth.

Which meant only one thing.

Someone knew he was alive. Someone powerful.

And they were preparing for him.

A slow smirk appeared at the edge of Aldric's lips as he stepped forward, his boots crunching over stone and blood.

Let them prepare.

He was coming.