In a silent whoosh of shadows, Dagger reappeared in his house.

It could barely even be called that; it was small and rundown, barely in functioning condition. But that was fine with Dagger. He didn't mind the smell of mold or the damp floors when it rained. He was rarely here anyways, only staying long enough to sleep once every couple days and to mark his progress in his notes. Which is what he set out to do now.

Lighting a candle with a match from a haphazard pile on his desk, he opened the notebook on top of his stack. With meticulous care and detail, he set about finishing up the notes of today's kill.

As he wrote, Dagger struggled not to let the man's words ring in his head. Of course, those things were said to him all the time.

But you know that they're right, an insidious voice whispered from the back of his mind.

You're nothing but a killer. You'd be better off dead.

He could feel the deceased pressing upon him, their cold hands gripping him tightly.

Taking a deep breath, Dagger paused, staring at the candle's flame until he had calmed down, his heartbeat slowing as the seconds stretched by.

He finished the notes as quickly as he could before tucking the notebook and pen carefully into his travel pack. Leaning back in his chair, Dagger looked up at the stained wooden ceiling and contemplated what to do next. He would be fine for three or four days, enough for him to stay in the forest and plan his next move, but first...

Dagger was tired.

He was exhausted from using his powers in the middle of the day, and he had been avoiding sleep in lieu of pursuit of his target. But it had been five days, and he was struggling to think and make simple choices. The neatly bed laid waiting, the corner already tucked down. It was one of the tidier areas of the tiny house, the sheets mostly stain free. Dagger grimaced as he stared at it. After a long moment of hesitation, he took off his heavy cloak, hanging it on a lonely rusted hook by the door.

Leaving his boots by the foot of the bed, he pulled the thin wool blanket over him and watched the candle burn down, apprehensively waiting for sleep to overtake him.

In his dream, Dagger stalked through the woods, his movements not his own. Dread filled him as he watched the scene unfold. No, he thought. Not this again. But his body moved on, his mind like an onlooker watching from the sides.

He followed the small figure through the dense shrubbery, pace quickening. The person seemed to sense this, and tried to go faster. Their limbs flashed through the underbrush as he sprinted through the forest.

The figure broke through the tree line, their steps leading them to a small, rundown village. Dagger felt anguish and shame rise up as he screamed internally.

Dagger followed the child, who had finally made it inside the village's wooden fence. But it didn't matter. There was no safety here for him.

Several armed guards raised their spears, yelling at him angrily, as he approached, steps quick. Before they could react, Dagger's body lunged forward, hands gripping one of the man's throats. With a wail, he collapsed, dead. The other guards hollered, raising their weapons and attacking, more villagers pouring from the entrance.

But it was like mice against a bear; he was a natural disaster all of his own. With inhuman speed, the man reached out, killing with every touch. Many weapons cut him, but he didn't seem to notice, only retaliating long enough to kill whoever had landed the hit.

Just like last time, Dagger didn't stop until every villager was dead. Only then, did he regain control of himself, where he fell to his knees. Taking heaving breaths, his own blood pooled around him and he saw the devastation he had wreaked. Why, why, why! He screamed to the sky as the dead whispered in his ears.

He would never be forgiven, they hissed, wrapping their icy hands around his throat.

*****

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Dagger woke to an unfamiliar sound, his hands shaking slightly as he took gasping breaths, cobwebs of his nightmare still clinging in his mind.

The candle had gone out, leaving the room completely dark, but that didn't bother him. Instead he relished in it, letting the cool shadows remind him of where he was. And then, an abrupt knocking pulled him fully back to his senses.

Someone was knocking. On HIS door. The thing didn't even open, permanently stuck shut by the slowly collapsing roof.

It was such a rarity that it took several moments for the man to even process it.

A third set of knocks rang out. They were firm, but not overly loud. Clearly, they expected him to be home. But who on earth would be looking for him?

Quickly tossing his cloak and gloves on, he materialized in the shadows beside his crumbling house. The man knocking jumped when they saw him seemingly come out of nowhere, but managed to compose himself enough to offer a bow. Dagger recognized the colors of the messenger's attire; Green and silver, the royal colors of the Kingdom of Raizakar.

"Greetings, Sir Demon of Raizakar," the courier spoke, unraveling a message paper with trembling fingers. Dagger struggled to not roll his eyes at the title. "The Star of Our Empire, Queen Morella of Raizakar, has requested an audience with you. She guarantees the reward will be well worth the effort, should your endeavors prove to be fruitful. You will be escorted to the Palace when you are available."

In other words, she had a mission for him and wanted to see him as soon as possible. As in, now.

He sighed internally but kept a stoic expression. Glancing at the sky, Dagger judged he had slept about 18 hours, seeing how the sun was beginning to rise once more. Well, that would have to do for now.

"This had better be worth my time," Dagger grumbled out loud as he turned back to the courier, his voice low and gravelly. The messenger flinched as though the threat were directed at him but said nothing, instead giving a curt bow and informing the vigilante that he would wait outside until he was ready to go. Dagger shadow stepped back inside, collecting his travel pack with his current notes, as well as a handful of candles from the drawer. Once finished, he went back out and allowed the messenger to lead him to the Queen. They set out on foot at a brisk pace, the man assuming Dagger would follow as he weaved his way expertly through the cobbled streets.

Even though the sun was just rising, its rays only beginning to warm the air, the city was already busy getting ready for the day, the drowsiness evaporating like early morning dew. The smell of meat and bread being cooked wafted from the stalls and Dagger felt his stomach growl. He ignored it for now, but made a mental note to stop back again after the meeting.

The meeting. The Queen. As they continued through alleys and dusty roads, Dagger pondered the strange request, wracking his brain for a reasonable explanation.

His relationship with the Empire, and specifically the Queen, was...complicated, to say the least. When he had first settled and began his 'work' as a vigilante, cleaning out the worst of the worst from the city streets, she had made a massive display of attempting to uproot him. She had sent guards to haul him to prison; he simply shadow stepped to another area in the city. She had put out a bounty on his head, but with the similar problem of not being able to actually capture him. The next approach was much cruder and darker; simply kill the problem off. She sent her specialized unit of assassins next.

Unlucky for her, Dagger had a little anomaly with that particular area. If they could manage to kill him, which they had a couple times, though with heavy casualties, he would come back to life.

While many would deem this phenomenon a miracle, or the work of a god, Dagger considered it a curse and resented it. Obviously, the Queen was angry as well, not understanding how her plans were thwarted again and again. After attempting to harass him out of the city in multiple ways, from burning down his home to spreading malicious rumors about him, the aging royal finally seemed to give up, merely sending a letter of reprimand if he killed someone deemed 'important'.

Mostly, Dagger thought, she had realized the cost of manpower was not worth it. And he was glad; he still remembered the faces of some of the innocent guards sent to try and get rid of him.

They were nearing the gate to the palace, the road becoming neater and better maintained the closer they got. The buildings all had a polished, refined feel and the people dressed in expensive garb glanced over at them, recognizing at least the colors of the palace messenger. Most of the eyes on them were merely curious, but a few held contempt and disgust as they followed Dagger through the gates. Doing his best to ignore them, he pulled his hood closer against the brightening sun.

Thankfully, the inside of the palace offered some respite against the sunny day and he felt relieved to enter the shadows. The messenger briefly paused at each door to exchange a few words with the guards stationed before they were granted entry and continued on their way. Their steps echoed loudly on the polished stone floor.

Their was no ruckus or acknowledgement when they entered; not that Dagger had expected any. At this point, he wasn't sure what to expect. The maids glanced over, giving him plenty of space, and the knights kept their eyes trained on him at all times, but other than that, no one interacted with him.

After passing dining rooms and hallways adorned with green velvet and crystal chandeliers, they approached a humongous set of doors, decorated with ornate silver designs that looked like a tree with roots in the shape of water drops. This was clearly the Queen's Hall, where she took her audiences. Eight guards total were stationed outside, more than any other room of the castle, two of which opened the massive doors on their approach. Bracing himself, he stepped through the entry and into the mouth of the lion's den.