The night was cold and quiet as Sir Oren approached the safehouse. The narrow alleys of Earldorf wound like a maze, and even though he knew these streets well, there was something about the silence that gnawed at him tonight. He pulled his cloak tighter around himself, feeling the weight of the large bag slung over his shoulder. Inside it were the tools that would either make or break tomorrow night's plan.
He reached the safehouse door, rapping his knuckles softly against the wooden frame before letting himself in. The familiar scent of burnt wood and stale bread greeted him, and a few sets of eyes turned to meet him as he stepped inside. The group was gathered around the table, a flickering oil lamp casting their shadows across the walls. Mira was the first to rise, her sharp eyes locking onto the satchel.
“You’re late,” she said, though there was no real heat in her voice.
Sir Oren sighed, setting the satchel down on the table. “Things took longer than expected. I had to make sure we weren’t being followed.”
Behind him, two servants entered, each carrying their own large bags. The bags hit the ground with a heavy thud, and Oren gave a small wave of his hand. Without a sound, the servants turned and left, the door closing behind them with a soft creak.
Mira’s eyes flicked to the bags, her expression calculating. “More supplies?” she asked, though there was a hint of suspicion in her tone.
“Everything we’ll need,” Oren said, nodding as he undid the buckles and began opening the bags. “Ropes, grappling hooks, lanterns. Some special surprises as well.” He glanced up, his gaze moving from Mira to the rest of the group.
Kadoc and Auina leaned in closer, their eyes widening as Oren began to pull items from the bags. Ropes coiled like snakes, bundles of dark clothing, and even a few small vials filled with strange powder. Oren laid them out on the table one by one, his hands steady despite the tension that seemed to hang thick in the room.
Rulf, who had been standing quietly in the corner, stepped forward, his eyes narrowing as he looked over the supplies. “What kind of surprises?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.
Oren gave him a thin smile, holding up one of the vials. The powder inside was pure white and held together in clumps. “Smoke compound,” he said. “Break it, and you’ve got about ten seconds before the room fills with enough smoke to cover an escape. Use it wisely.”
Rulf whistled, taking one of the vials from the table, holding it in his hand, and watching the powder shift. He raised an eyebrow, glancing at Oren with an amused look. “A nice touch. But, you know, if we need to use these, it means we’re screwed, right?”
Oren nodded, his expression unchanging. “That’s right. If we’re using these, it means things have gone to hell. Our priority is not getting caught. If you need to use the smoke, it means stealth has failed, and we’re in survival mode.”
Rulf smirked, slipping the vial into his belt pouch. “Good to know. I’ll save it for when everything’s gone to shit.”
Mira, standing at the edge of the table, crossed her arms and eyed each of them in turn. “Pay attention,” she said, her tone sharper than before. “The goal is not to use these. If you do, it’s because something’s gone wrong, and that puts all of us at risk. We go in clean, quiet, and we leave no trace behind. Understood?”
Auina nodded, her eyes flicking to the vials before turning back to Oren, curiosity evident in her gaze. “You said surprises. Is there anything else we should know about?”
Oren dipped his head in acknowledgment. He reached back into the bag and pulled out a small, metal sphere, about the size of an apple. Its surface was engraved with faint runes, and a metallic sheen caught the lamplight as he turned it in his hand.
“This,” Oren began, “is a shocker. If we’re cornered, throw it into the middle of the room.” He held the sphere up for everyone to see. “It’ll flash and make enough noise to disorient anyone close by—guards, attackers, anyone who might be getting in our way. We’ll have a few seconds to use that distraction and make an escape.”
Lena, who had been watching in silence, furrowed her brow. “Won’t that draw even more attention?”
“It will,” Oren admitted. “That’s why it’s a last resort. If we’re using this, it’s because we’re already out of other options, and staying quiet isn’t an option anymore.”
Kadoc watched as Auina shifted uneasily, a frown growing on her face. She caught his eye and gave a small shrug. “A lot of ‘in case of failure’ tools,” she murmured to him. Her voice was low, almost too quiet to be heard over the crackle of the oil lamp.
Kadoc nodded, his gaze falling on the map sprawled across the table. “Yeah. Makes you think about what we’re actually getting into.”
Oren cleared his throat, drawing their attention back to the map. “Tomorrow night, we’re moving in through the servants’ entrance here.” He pointed to a small side door at the rear of the manor. “It’s guarded, but lightly. Kadoc”—he looked directly at the boy, who stood a little straighter—“you’re on the lock. It’s your job to get us in without making a sound.”
Kadoc swallowed, his fingers brushing against the lockpicks in his pocket. He nodded, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll do it. I won’t mess it up.”
“We know you won’t,” Oren said. He turned back to the rest of the group. “Once we’re inside, we split up. Mira, Rulf —you’re with me. We’re heading for the main study on the second floor. That’s where the documents are—the ones my lord wants. These documents are incriminating, they involve trade routes, contacts, and potentially even blackmail. They’re valuable enough that people will kill to protect them.”
“Auina, Kadoc,” Oren continued, turning to the two of them, “you’re heading to the artifact room on the first floor. There are a few items my lord would like “requisitioned”. More specifically though, he wants a gold bracelet—gold, carved with intricate symbols. You’ll know it when you see it. It’s valuable to our client, and they want it badly.”
“What’s so special about it?” Kadoc asked, frowning. “Why a bracelet?”
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Oren hesitated for a heartbeat before answering. “Our client believes it has... properties that are of particular value.”
Kadoc exchanged a glance with Auina, unease flickering in her blue eyes. She gave him a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Well, let’s just hope it’s as shiny as it is important, right?”
Rulf snorted, shaking his head as he crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Just our luck if we go through all this for a bit of jewelry. Hope it’s worth more than it sounds.”
Mira shot Rulf a sharp look, her eyes narrowing. “You know better, Rulf. Nothing in Orsantsky Manor is worthless. If it’s in there, and someone’s paying us a fortune for it, there’s a reason.”
Rulf shrugged, though there was a flicker of tension in his jaw. “I know, I know. I just don’t like the idea of risking our necks for something we don’t fully understand.”
Oren’s gaze remained steady, moving from one face to the next, reading the unease in the group. He knew they had questions—questions he couldn’t fully answer. The truth was, the bracelet was an enigma even to him. All he knew was that their employer wanted it desperately enough to risk hiring street thieves and mercenaries, and that told him it was far from an ordinary trinket.
He took a deep breath and straightened, his voice breaking through the tense silence. “Alright, that’s enough for tonight. Tomorrow is the big night, and we need everyone to be sharp. Get what rest you can, make your final preparations, and don’t do anything that might draw attention.”
He paused, his gaze sweeping across the group once more before nodding to Mira. “Make sure they’re ready, Mira. No surprises.”
Mira nodded. “We’ll be ready.”
With that, he opened the door and stepped out into the cold night, his figure vanishing into the darkness. The door closed behind him with a soft click, leaving the group in silence, the only sound the faint crackle of the oil lamp.
Mira let out a long breath, her eyes shifting back to the others. “Alright, you heard him. Get some rest. We’ve got a lot riding on tomorrow, and I don’t want anyone making mistakes.”
One by one, they nodded, each of them turning to gather their things or head to their sleeping spots. The weight of what lay ahead seemed to hang over them, a heavy presence that filled the small space of the safehouse.
Kadoc lingered by the table, his eyes drifting to the gear that Oren had left behind. He reached out, his fingers brushing against the rough fibers of the rope, his mind churning with thoughts of what the next night might bring. The Orsantsky Manor was no ordinary target. It was a fortress, guarded by men trained to deal with intruders, by people who wouldn’t hesitate to kill if they caught even a whisper of trouble.
Kadoc swallowed, the knot in his throat tightening. He glanced over at Auina, who was busy organizing her own set of tools, her face focused, determined. She caught his eye and gave him a small smile, one that was meant to be reassuring but couldn’t quite hide the worry behind it.
“We’ll be fine,” she mouthed silently, her blue eyes meeting his.
Kadoc tried to smile back, though it felt thin, shaky. He looked back at the gear on the table, his thoughts clouded with doubt. How hard could this really be? They had trained, they had prepared—but still, there was that nagging thought in the back of his mind, a tiny voice whispering that maybe they weren’t ready. That maybe they were in over their heads.
But it was too late to turn back now. He had to try—for his mother, for the chance to make things right.
He let out a slow breath, his fingers tightening around the rope. No matter how hard it was going to be, they would face it together. And he would do everything in his power to make sure they all made it out alive.
Slowly, Kadoc turned away from the table, heading to where his bedding lay in the corner. Tomorrow would decide everything. And whatever it took, he was ready to see it through.
***
Artemiy Orsantsky stood in the grand study of his manor, the crackling of the fire in the hearth barely cutting through the silence of the room. The richly adorned space was filled with deep mahogany furniture, plush armchairs, and shelves overflowing with leather-bound books. The golden glow from the fire threw long shadows across the room, flickering and dancing across the dark, velvet curtains drawn across the tall windows.
He turned away from the fire, letting his gaze drift across the polished surface of his desk. A silver tray sat on one corner, a half-full decanter of brandy alongside a single crystal glass. Artemiy’s eyes lingered on it for a moment before he poured himself a measure, the amber liquid swirling in the glass as he swirled it in thought. He took a slow sip, savoring the warmth that burned down his throat, a small comfort amidst the growing unease that he had been trying to ignore for days.
He turned to face the room, his gaze settling on the portrait that hung on the wall above the hearth—a painting of his late father, Lubomir Orsantsky, dressed in the ceremonial robes of the Orsantsky lineage. He had it commissioned shortly after the previous patriarch's death and even now, his eyes were always drawn to it. It had always been a reminder to Artemiy of what his family stood for—strength, power, and the resolve to crush anyone who dared to challenge their authority.
His father’s eyes, dark gray and small, seemed to bore into him. Artemiy remembered standing beneath that gaze as a young boy, the heavy robes of his own ceremonial garb almost too much to bear. “You are an Orsantsky,” his father had said to him then. “We do not show weakness. We do not bend. We take what is ours, and we keep it.”
He clenched his jaw, taking another sip of brandy, the warmth doing little to stave off the chill that had settled into his bones. Artemiy turned, setting the glass down on the desk with a deliberate thud. He strode to the window, pulling the heavy velvet curtains aside to gaze down at the courtyard below. The snow had begun to fall again, a light dusting covering the cobblestones and blanketing the edges of the carefully pruned hedges. The manor grounds were quiet, almost serene, but Artemiy knew better. The guards stood at their posts, the flicker of their torches barely visible in the darkness. Each man knew their duty, each one aware of the price of failure.
He remembered his father’s voice, that commanding tone that left no room for doubt. "Never let them see your fear, Artemiy. Never let them sense weakness. The moment you do, you become prey." It had become a mantra, a rule he lived by without exception. And now, more than ever, he needed to uphold that rule.
Artemiy turned back to his desk, his expression hardening as he moved with deliberate care. He slid the chair back and settled into it, the leather creaking softly under his weight. His eyes scanned the surface of the desk—papers, his half-empty glass of brandy, and finally, a small, clear crystal, its facets glinting in the firelight.
He reached out, his fingers closing around the crystal, feeling its cool surface against his skin. Setting it on the desk before him, Artemiy grabbed the thin-bladed knife that lay beside it. Without hesitation, he pricked the tip of his finger, watching as a small bead of crimson welled up. He held his hand over the crystal, letting a single drop fall onto it.
The effect was immediate. The crystal seemed to absorb the blood, its clear surface clouding momentarily before it began to glow, a faint, eerie blue. Artemiy lifted it to his ear, his face impassive as he waited. The glow of the crystal pulsed in time with his heartbeat, a rhythmic throb that filled the silence of the room.
After a moment, a low, muffled voice came through, indistinct but undeniably there. Artemiy's lips curled into a faint smile, his tone measured and polite as he spoke.
Greetings. I thought about your offer and I am willing to pay you three thousand silver drachium for your services," he said. His eyes were half-closed, his focus entirely on the crystal. “I assume this is enough to cover the costs for your group?”
The voice on the other end replied, its words lost to anyone but Artemiy. He listened, his expression never changing, though his eyes flickered with something sharp, something dangerous.
Finally, Artemiy's smile widened, his teeth gleaming in the firelight. He nodded, though there was no one there to see it. "Good," he said simply. "Then we have an understanding. I expect you to be here by the morning."
He lowered the crystal, the glow fading until it was nothing more than a lifeless, transparent shard once more. Artemiy placed it back on the desk, wiping the blood from his finger on a handkerchief. He leaned back in his chair, his smile lingering as he gazed at the flames dancing in the hearth.
The pieces were in motion. Whoever thought they could come for the Orsantsky family would soon discover just how many moves ahead he was playing. He had his defenses, his guards, his traps—and now, something more. A force that moved in the shadows, answering only to him.
Artemiy closed his eyes for a moment, the smile never leaving his face. Whatever happened tomorrow night, he would be ready. He would meet those who threatened him head-on, and they would learn the cost of challenging an Orsantsky.
The fire crackled softly in the hearth, the only witness to the quiet resolve etched into Artemiy's features.