Jonas Carr was dying.

Rylan could see it in the way the man’s head lolled against his chest, the slow, shuddering breaths, the vacant look creeping into his swollen eyes.

Brother Anders sat across from him, his ever-present smile a thing of cruelty. “It’s simple, Jonas. Give us a name. Just one. And this ends.”

Jonas grinned, blood staining his teeth. “Sure. Go fuck yourself. Write that down.”

Rylan stiffened.

Anders sighed. “A shame. I thought you’d be smarter about this.” He nodded to the guards.

A fist smashed into Jonas’ gut. He choked, body convulsing against the chains.

Rylan exhaled through his nose. “Enough.”

Anders arched a brow at him. “Are we feeling sentimental?”

Rylan met his gaze, his expression impassive. “No. But if you kill him too soon, he won’t be able to talk.”

Anders studied him for a moment before sighing dramatically. “Fine. No more beatings. We’ll let hunger do the work.” He stood, brushing nonexistent dust from his pristine robes. “Leave him with his thoughts, Paladin.”

Rylan didn’t answer. He turned on his heel and left.

By nightfall, Jonas would be dead.

The message reached Riya in the kitchens, slipped between sacks of flour.

"Jonas will break. Silence him before he does."

The words twisted in her stomach like a blade.

She had killed before. Soldiers. Enforcers. Enemies.

But Jonas?

Her own?

Her grip tightened around the note. There had to be another way.

But there wasn’t.

"You're makin’ a face, girl."

Riya blinked. Ms. Eunice stood at her side, peeling turnips with practiced efficiency. The kitchen buzzed around them—steam rising, pots clanking, voices chattering.

Riya forced a smile. “Just tired.”

Eunice snorted. “Tired, my foot. You look like a cat about to cough up something nasty.”

Riya said nothing, focused on slicing vegetables.

Eunice glanced around before leaning in. “So. Which poor bastard’s food you tampering with tonight?”

Riya’s knife slipped, nearly nicking her finger.

Eunice’s lips twitched. “Thought so.”

Riya sighed, lowering her voice. “Jonas.”

Eunice’s expression sobered. For a long moment, she said nothing, just peeling, peeling, peeling. Then: “Anders is gonna break him, then.”

Riya nodded.

Eunice let out a slow breath. “Damn shame. Good man, that one.”

She turned, scooping up a bowl of stale bread. “Well. Let’s make sure his last meal’s warm.”

Riya hesitated. “You’re… not stopping me?”

Eunice scoffed. “Please. I’ve been feeding men their last meals since before you were in your daddy’s dreams. If you’re gonna do it, do it clean.”

She pressed a spoon into Riya’s hand. “And do it yourself.”

The dungeons reeked of damp stone and sweat. Riya walked the narrow corridor, tray in hand, her heart a hammer against her ribs.

The guards barely looked at her. Just another kitchen girl. Just another meal.

Jonas barely stirred when she entered. His face was a mess—one eye swollen shut, his lip split deep. But when she set the tray down, his fingers twitched.

His gaze lifted to hers.

Recognition flickered.

He saw the tension in her shoulders. The stiffness in her movements. The way she wouldn’t quite meet his eyes.

Understanding settled between them.

Slowly, painfully, Jonas picked up the bread.

Broke it.

Ate.

Riya swallowed hard.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Jonas exhaled. “Tell… tell them… to be smarter than me.”

Riya forced herself to nod.

Minutes passed. Then Jonas' breathing stilled.

Riya waited until she was sure.

Then she turned.

And walked away.

The kitchen halls were quiet at this hour, lanterns flickering along stone walls.

Riya walked briskly, her hands clenched at her sides. She needed to get back to her quarters. Wash her hands. Breathe.

Then—

A shadow detached from the wall.

Commander Emeric

He stepped into her path, his expression unreadable.

For a heartbeat, neither of them spoke.

Then, in a voice like steel wrapped in silk, he said:

"I see you."

Riya’s stomach turned to ice.

Her face remained neutral, her voice steady. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Emeric smiled. It was not kind.

“No?” He tilted his head, studying her. “Then tell me, Riya—why do your hands tremble?”

Riya clenched them into fists. “They don’t.”

Emeric hummed, watching her for an agonizing beat.

Then, without another word, he stepped aside.

Riya didn’t hesitate.

She walked.

Not too fast. Not too slow.

“Sleep well Riya”

She didn’t look back.

But she felt his eyes on her the entire way.

The next morning in the council chamber's subdued light, a tense silence enveloped the assembly of high-ranking officers. The room, with its stark stone walls and sparse furnishing, echoed with the murmur of urgent discussions. At the head of the table stood King Darian, his eyes surveyed the room of his most seasoned veterans.

“Crosshaven sends troubling reports,” Darian began, his voice steady but tinged with unease, “of a warrior. A phantom, they say, wielding a blade with deadly grace, cutting down over a hundred of our finest. This is more than just a soldier. This is someone extraordinary."

Around the table, expressions ranged from skepticism to thinly veiled alarm. Some officers scoffed at the hyperbole, while others shifted uneasily, knowing the cost of underestimating such tales.

“Surely, these descriptions are overstated your Majesty,” remarked an officer with a wave of dismissal. "A mere man, no matter how skilled, cannot achieve such feats."

Darian turned, fixing the officer with a steely gaze. "We thought the same of the Shadow's Whisper, yet here we are. We cannot afford to dismiss such threats."

A tense silence fell over the room as the gravity of his words sank in.

"We have a name attached to these rumors," Darian continued, his voice low yet carrying across the council room with urgency. "Alric. He's not just a myth; he's real, and he's dangerous. He wields Aurora’s Edge."

Commander Emeric's eyes narrowed, his focus sharpening as he scanned the faces of his officers. Each look was met with a calculated intensity, his gaze piercing as if he could peer beyond their masks of composure into the depths of their resolve. “This mission is of utmost importance. I will personally oversee its execution,” he declared, his voice resonant, commanding the attention of everyone present. A murmur of approval rippled through the room, a mix of reverence and a trace of apprehension palpable in the air. The presence of their Commander on such a mission did not just signify its critical nature—it underscored the peril it entailed.

Emeric stood, his stature imposing, as he addressed his chosen cadre of soldiers, each distinguished not just by their skills but their unyielding ruthlessness. “You will accompany us. Prepare for departure in three days' time,” he commanded, his tone brooking no argument. The soldiers nodded, their expressions set in grim determination.

As the meeting adjourned, Rylan and Riya exchanged a quick, discreet glance, a silent conversation passing between them. Emeric’s direct involvement complicated things significantly. Any deviation from the mission or even the slightest hesitation could now end disastrously. Their plans, already fraught with danger, now teetered on the edge of a knife.

Outside, the preparations for the mission began immediately. The barracks buzzed with activity as soldiers checked their gear, sharpened their weapons, and reviewed the details of the operation. Emeric supervised the preparations, his presence a relentless force that drove everyone to double their efforts.

In his tent, Emeric stood over his maps, tracing routes and marking potential ambush points. The empty jar of Vigilroot sat on the corner of his desk, a stark reminder of what was at stake. His hand hovered over the map, pausing at a forest known to be dense and treacherous—a perfect hiding place for someone like Alric.

"Alric," he muttered to himself, the name a whisper that carried all his focus and fury. "This ends now."

The weight of command was heavy on Emeric's shoulders as he rolled up the maps. Walking out of his tent, he looked over the camp, his sharp gaze cutting through the night. The soldiers, aware of his scrutiny, straightened their backs and focused on their tasks with renewed vigor.

Emeric’s resolve hardened like the steel of the blade he carried. He knew the risks, he understood the dangers, but he also knew that failure was not an option. Aurora’s Edge, a symbol of his deepest loss and betrayal, was out there. And he would reclaim it, no matter the cost.

Under the faint glow in Riya’s quarters, she and Rylan leaned over a roughly drawn map, their whispers blending with the rustle of parchment. “We start with a little misdirection,” Riya said, a sly tone in her voice. “Throw Emeric off Alric's trail.”Rylan nodded in agreement. “I can handle that. There are a few within The Anointed who trust me enough to believe what I tell them. They’ll pass the misinformation on to Emeric.”

Riya then turned to the crucial part of their plan – getting a warning to Alric. “The Shadows’ Whisper has a network of messengers. I can get a message to them, but it needs to be subtle, something only Alric will understand.”She penned a cryptic note, embedding a warning about the impending attack, cloaked in language that would seem innocuous to anyone but Alric.

“Getting this to the Shadows’ Whisper without arousing suspicion is key,” Riya said as she carefully sealed the note. “I’ll need to be discreet.”Rylan's eyes lingered on her, widening in silent awe at her determination, then creasing at the corners with worry. “Be careful. If they catch you…”Riya locked eyes with him, her brows furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line, a fiery resolve burning in her gaze. “I know the risks. But we have to do this, for Alric.”Later that night, under the cover of darkness, Riya slipped out of the barracks, deftly avoiding patrols as she made her way to a hidden drop point used by the Shadows’ Whisper.She stashed the message in a secret recess, a spot frequently visited by the couriers of the Whisper. With the note safely deposited, she quickly returned to the barracks, her heart racing with the hope that her message would find its way to Alric in time.

Back in her quarters, the weight of their actions settled on Riya. The risk was enormous, not just for her and Rylan, but for Alric as well.Rylan watched her, his gaze lingering. A smile flickered on his lips at her fierce determination, quickly replaced by a furrowed brow as worry set in. “Now we wait and hope,” he said, taking her hand.They sat together in silence, united by a shared goal and the unspoken feelings that had grown between them. The next few days would determine not only Alric’s fate but also the course of their own lives.

Outside, the detachment assembled, a formidable force in the colors of The Anointed. They were armed and ready, their expressions a blend of determination and zeal. Emeric, Rylan, and Riya joined them, their roles as leaders evident in their bearing. As they set off from the stronghold, the atmosphere among the troops was one of focused anticipation.

Their mission to apprehend Alric promised danger, leading them across diverse and possibly hostile landscapes. Riya walked alongside Rylan, her mind racing. She needed to find a way to warn Alric, to give him a fighting chance against the overwhelming force they commanded. Yet, every plan she contemplated seemed fraught with danger, both for Alric and for herself.

The detachment set out as dawn broke, their armor glinting in the early light. Emeric led with a commanding presence, his eyes sharp and calculating. The soldiers trudged forward, their heads bowed not just under the weight of their helmets, but under the burden of the looming conflict, their synchronized steps a silent testament to their grim resolve. As they traversed the rugged terrain, the tension among them was like a taut string, ready to snap at the slightest provocation.

Riya and Rylan moved with the unit, their minds occupied with thoughts of the impending confrontation, each grappling with their own demons and decisions.Their journey was marked by a grim determination. The land around them seemed to hold its breath, as if aware of the impending storm that was brewing. The shadows of what was to come loomed large, casting a pall over their path.