We left the Mourning Fields behind us, though the grim scenes I’d witnessed of those doomed travelers replayed in my mind. The landscape gradually shifted as we rode on, and about an hour later, the ashen plains gave way to more solid ground.
“Tell me about Ebonheart,” I said to Corvus, eager to focus on something other than that last disturbing event.
Corvus tilted his head in thought. “Ebonheart was once a beacon of order and justice in Aetheria. The laws were strict but fair, and corruption was met with swift, merciless punishment.”
“What changed?” I asked.
“The usual culprits—greed, ambition, weakness.” His lips curled in disgust. “The current city leaders make grand promises of reform and prosperity, but they’re empty words meant to placate the masses. And the people...” He shook his head. “They lap it up like starving dogs, desperate to believe that someone cares about their petty concerns.”
I thought about the corruption I’d witnessed in my own past life, how the powerful had twisted justice to serve their own ends. “The people accept this?”
“They do more than accept it—they embrace it. Lower taxes, promises of protection, hollow gestures of goodwill.” Corvus’s voice dripped with contempt. “Like sheep following a shepherd straight to slaughter, never questioning where the path leads.”
“An uninformed, uneducated society is easier to control,” I noted.
Corvus hissed. “Indeed.” The crows cawed overhead, their voices seeming to echo his frustration. “I spoke to Malachai about it,” he continued. “About how the city has fallen into disarray, how weak leadership has allowed chaos to flourish where order once reigned.”
“What did he say?”
“He seemed... dismissive of my concerns.” Corvus’s tone held a hint of confusion. “Strange, really. Malachai has always been a champion of order. His apparent lack of interest in Ebonheart’s decline struck me as unusual.”
I furrowed my brow. Strange, indeed, as one of the first things Malachai instilled in my training was the importance of order, discipline, and control.
“But I did not press the issue,” Corvus continued. “Malachai’s wisdom far exceeds my own. If he doesn’t see Ebonheart’s turmoil as an immediate concern, then I trust his judgment.”
I nodded once. The conviction in his voice was clear. Whatever doubts he might have had about Malachai’s response, his faith in our leader remained unyielding. “It sounds like we must remain vigilant while we’re there.”
“A wise choice. On Ebonheart’s surface, you’ll see grand architecture, bustling markets, all the trappings of normal life. But it is all a facade. Criminal guilds, crooked officials, rival cults—they all play their parts in an endless dance of chaos, power, and betrayal.” A crow landed on his shoulder and cawed something softly in his ear. “Even now, my little friends tell me the city seethes with tension.”
“But that should be of no concern to us,” I said, trying more to convince myself. I had a strange feeling that my mission might prove more complicated than I originally thought. Ebonheart sounded way too familiar to my old city home. It seemed no matter where I went, I would never get away from injustice and corruption.
Another hour passed, and we stopped very briefly to rest our horses before setting off again. I remained one with my thoughts as we continued our silent journey along the main road. The crimson sky darkened, and in the distance, I could see the first hints of Ebonheart’s spires piercing the horizon. The air shifted, carrying the distant scents of civilization—smoke, spices, and the indefinable mixture of thousands of lives pressed together within the city walls. Even from here, there was something ominous about the city’s architecture—a suggestion of dark secrets hidden beneath its mask of beauty.
“We should reach the city by nightfall,” Corvus said, finally breaking the long silence. “Remember, Caelum. In Ebonheart, every shadow could hide an enemy... or an opportunity. The trick is knowing which is which.”
“What about the aurorium?” I asked. “Where do they stand in all of this?”
“The aurorium maintains a careful distance from city politics. They see themselves as above such petty concerns.”
“Above it? How so?”
“The clerics there serve a higher purpose—Valic’s vision of perfect order. They view the city’s political machinations as temporary distractions, meaningless squabbles that will eventually destroy themselves.”
I furrowed my brow. “If that is the case, then why do the clerics remain in a city so unstable?”
“You must understand that Ebonheart’s corruption runs deeper than mere politics or crime. The nobles, the merchants, the thieves’ guilds—they all serve powers they barely understand. Even the shadows there are tainted by years of dark rituals and forbidden practices. The aurorium’s presence serves as a beacon of order that will transcend chaos. The clerics are content to wait, to watch the city destroy itself until nothing remains. Then they plan to rebuild something new from the ruins, something more aligned with our lord’s will.”
I pondered this. The idea resonated with my own experiences—how often had I watched the powerful in my old life tear each other apart in their endless games of influence and control? “So, the clerics just… sit back and watch? Let the chaos spread?”
“They intervene only when their own interests are directly threatened.” Corvus’s voice took on a harder edge. “Which is why this theft of the Serpent’s Fang is so important. It’s forced them to engage with the very elements they’ve long ignored.”
Oh, the irony. “They tried to stay out of the shit, but now they’re being dragged into it anyway.”
“Precisely.” Corvus nodded. “The clerics are... displeased, to say the least. This theft has disrupted their carefully maintained neutrality that has kept them in isolation. Now they must navigate the very political waters they’ve spent years avoiding.”
I thought about my years as a watchman, and how I’d tried to maintain some semblance of honor while serving in a corrupt system. “Sometimes neutrality becomes a form of complicity,” I mused aloud.
Corvus’s blindfolded face turned to me. “An interesting observation. Though I suspect the clerics would disagree. They see their neutrality as strategic patience rather than passive acceptance.”
“And what do you think?”
Corvus turned his attention back to the road and remained quiet for a long moment. “I think they underestimate how deeply corruption can root itself if left unchecked. By the time they’re ready to ‘rebuild’ from the ashes, there might not be anything left worth salvaging.”
I remembered watching my own city’s slow descent into chaos, how each small compromise, each overlooked transgression, had contributed to its eventual rot. The clerics’ stance felt painfully familiar—that same misguided belief that one could remain pure by standing apart from corruption rather than actively fighting it.
“The clerics have found themselves ill-prepared for the realities of city politics,” Corvus continued. “They don’t know who to trust, which alliances to make, which threats to take seriously. And that is why they turn to people like us. We are outside their political web. We’re their perfect tools, capable of operating in the shadows, yet aligned close enough with their ultimate goals to be trustworthy.” He paused as one of his crows swooped down to land on his shoulder. “Though I suspect they’re about to learn that involving blackguards in their affairs may have... unintended consequences.”
As the early evening approached, the road we traveled became more crowded. Ebonheart’s walls were impressive stone, with various banners hanging from the battlements. Travelers, merchants, and local farmers hurried to reach the city before the gates closed. As we rode on, I sensed tension in the air, and noticed how some travelers regarded our presence with wide, fear-filled eyes.
A merchant leading a heavily-laden cart saw us approaching and quickly pulled his mule to the side of the road. He kept his eyes downcast as we passed, and muttered what sounded like a prayer under his breath. His reaction wasn’t unique—everywhere I looked, people were giving us a wide berth.
“They know what we are,” Corvus said to me softly. “The blackguards’ reputation precedes us.”
Indeed, it appeared our dark aura and foreboding armor had marked us clearly as servants of Valic. A group of travelers ahead looked back, noticed us, and immediately pressed themselves against the roadside, their expressions painted with fear and reverence. Parents pulled their children close, and even the most hardened-looking mercenaries stepped aside without hesitation.
I found myself straightening in my saddle, feeling a little more empowered by this feared respect. In my old life, I was considered lower than scum by cowards who lied and cheated their way to the top. Here, I was seen as someone far greater than I could ever imagine. These people didn’t just fear our authority, they feared our very nature.
“From here on, this is your mission,” Corvus said. “I am merely an observer.”
I blinked. “But surely, your experience—”
“Would defeat the purpose of this test. Malachai wants to see how you handle yourself, not how well you can follow my lead.”
My stomach tightened at his words. The weight of the mission settled more heavily on my shoulders. And I knew failure was not an option. Not if I wanted to survive and claim my place amongst the order.
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More travelers joined the flow, creating a steady stream of stragglers all hurrying towards the massive iron gates that loomed ahead. As we approached the entrance, the four guards stationed there spotted us. They exchanged nervous glances, hands tightening on the grips of their weapons hanging at their hip. One of them, a grizzled veteran with a deep scar over his left eye, stepped forward to block our path.
“State your business in Ebonheart, blackguards,” he demanded.
I detected a slight quiver in his voice. It was enough of a tell that he was projecting false courage. It reminded me of the countless officials I’d dealt with in my former life—strutting peacocks who hid their weakness behind badges and titles. I’d seen it countless times before: the way corrupt watchmen would puff up their chests and make demands, only to crumble when faced with real power. This guard was no different—another coward playing at authority, serving a system as rotten as the one I’d left behind. The familiar anger rose in my throat like bile. At least in my new role as a blackguard, I no longer had to pretend to respect such pathetic displays of borrowed power.
Scowling, I met his gaze unflinchingly, feeling more empowered than ever to put this weak fool in his place. “Our business is our own, guardsman. And none of your concern.”
He held my stare for a long moment, then swallowed hard and stepped aside. “As you say, sir. Welcome to Ebonheart.”
I surveyed the bustling street beyond the gate, my thoughts turning practical. Our steeds would need proper care—they were far too valuable to leave in common stables. “Where can we find suitable accommodations for our mounts?” I asked the guard, my voice carrying a sharper edge of authority that surprised even me. The guard’s earlier display of cowardice had only strengthened my own confidence. These people were all playing at power—I wielded the real thing.
The guard stammered. “Ah… the... the common stables are just inside the—”
“Common stables?” I sneered. “These are blackguard steeds, guardsman. Nightmare horses bred in shadow. Do you suggest we stable them alongside common draft animals?”
The guard paled and shook his head. “N-no, of course not, sir.” He turned and beckoned to a younger guard who stood nearby. “Fetch Master Goldsmith. Tell him we have... distinguished guests requiring his services.”
The younger guard practically sprinted away, clearly grateful for any excuse to put distance between himself and us.
“The Goldsmith Stables are the finest in Ebonheart,” the senior guard explained quickly. “Built into the old royal mews beneath the Noble Quarter. The walls are warded, the stalls are spacious, and the staff is... discrete.”
I could feel Corvus’s silent approval behind me. The guard was actually being helpful now that his bluster had been stripped away.
“And security?” I pressed.
“Guards posted day and night, sir. Master Goldsmith employs former military men, all well-trained and—”
“They will need reinforcement,” I interrupted. “I want city guards posted as well. These mounts are not to be disturbed until our business here is concluded. Is that clear?”
The guard’s head bobbed up and down quickly. “O-Of course, sir. I’ll personally assign my best men.”
“See that you do.” I let my gaze bore into him. “Because if anything happens to our horses—anything at all—I will hold you personally responsible.”
The threat hung in the air between us, made all the more potent by its subtlety. The guard’s face had gone from pale to ashen. His silence was all I needed to know that he understood my warning.
With a curt nod to the guard, I urged my horse forward, Corvus following silently behind. We emerged into the city proper, and I caught my breath. Ebonheart spread out before us like a dark jewel, with its narrow, twisting streets and looming buildings that felt too similar to the urban maze I’d once patrolled. The familiar stench of corruption hung heavy in the air—not just physical decay, but the deeper rot of souls and systems that had long since abandoned any pretense of justice.
Even the way people moved—heads down, shoulders hunched, eyes darting nervously—sparked unwelcome memories. These were the looks of people who knew they lived under corrupt rule but felt powerless to change it.
My hands tightened on the reins as we rode deeper into the city. Every shadow-filled alley, every whispered conversation that died at our approach, every furtive exchange between merchants and city guards—it was all hauntingly familiar. The faces were different, the architecture more grandiose, but the underlying corruption felt exactly the same.
Same rot, different mask.
A bitter laugh escaped my lips as we passed a guard accepting a bribe from a nobleman. Some things truly never changed, no matter which world I was in. I clenched my jaw at the mere sight. But unlike before, I wasn’t the same powerless watchman who had to stomach such injustice. I was something else now—something much more powerful. This city’s corruption was fuel for my anger that I would channel into my purpose.
And somewhere in this cesspool lay our quarry, hiding amongst the very elements that made my blood boil.
We continued following the young guard through the winding streets, though he maintained a healthy distance ahead of us. His nervous glances back ensured he hadn’t lost us, but his pace suggested he preferred to keep as much space between us as possible.
“You handled that gate guard well, by the way,” Corvus said, interrupting our silent ride. “The right balance of authority and threat.”
I nodded, feeling a surge of pride at his approval. The way the guards had cowered, how quickly they’d scrambled to accommodate us—it was intoxicating. This was the respect I’d always deserved but had been denied. No more would I be looked down upon or dismissed. The power flowing through my veins demanded recognition, and these people were finally giving it.
Yet even as I savored this new authority, a warning echoed in my mind. I’d seen what happened to those who became drunk on power, how they eventually became the very thing they despised. The corrupt officials in my old city had started somewhere, after all. Each one probably began with good intentions, with righteous anger at injustice. But power had twisted them, turned them into cowards who hid behind their authority and used it to terrorize those beneath them.
I wouldn’t let that happen to me. This power was a tool to be mastered, not a crutch to lean on. True strength came from control, not just over others, but over oneself.
“Power is seductive,” Corvus said, as if he’d read my thoughts. “It can corrupt even the strongest will if one isn’t careful.”
“Yes. I’ve seen what happens to those who let power control them,” I replied. “They become weak, hiding behind their authority because they have nothing else.”
“Good.” Corvus’s approval was clear. “Remember that feeling. It will serve you well in the days to come.”
The young guard led us down a sloping street that curved beneath an ornate archway. The Goldsmith Stables spread out before us, a massive structure that somehow managed to look both elegant and fortress-like. Unlike the common stables I’d known in my previous life, this establishment radiated wealth and security. The walls were solid stone, inlaid with runes of protection that glowed faintly in the gathering darkness. The main doors were heavy oak reinforced with black iron, and I noticed several guards positioned strategically around the perimeter.
Master Goldsmith himself emerged to greet us—a tall, lean, bearded man with silver-streaked hair and the bearing of someone used to handling valuable property. His eyes widened slightly at our presence, but he maintained his professional composure.
“My lords,” he said with a slight bow. “We are honored to host your mounts. I assure you they will receive our finest care.”
I dismounted, noting how the stable hands kept their distance until given explicit permission to approach. “These are no ordinary horses,” I stated firmly. “They require special handling.”
“Of course, my lord. We have experience with... unusual mounts.” He gestured to a separate wing of the stable. “We maintain private stalls specifically for distinguished guests, warded against both mundane and magical interference.”
As we followed him inside, I was pleasantly surprised by the facilities. The air was clean and fresh, the floors were immaculate, and each stall was spacious and well-appointed. It wasn’t quite up to the standards of our stronghold’s stables, but it was far better than I’d expected to find in the city.
“The city guard will be posting additional security,” I informed him. “I trust that won’t be a problem?”
“Not at all, my lord. We welcome any extra protection for our valued guests.”
Master Goldsmith supervised personally as our nightmare steeds were led to their stalls. Despite the stable master’s professional demeanor, I noticed how he flinched slightly when my mount’s glowing purple eyes fixed on him. He might have experience with unusual horses, but these shadow-bred creatures were clearly not ones he’d dealt with often.
“Your mounts will be well-cared for,” the stable master assured us while keeping a respectful distance from the stalls. He studied the nightmare steeds with knowing eyes. “I presume your steeds have certain dietary restrictions?”
“Yes. The saddlebags contain their provisions,” I replied, quite impressed by his perception. “See to it that no other sustenance is offered. These steeds consume only what has been specially prepared for them.”
He bowed quickly. “Of course, my lord. I’ll inform the stable hands to touch nothing but what you’ve provided.”
“Very good.” I nodded, satisfied with the arrangements. Then I turned back to Master Goldsmith and said, “We’ll return when our business in the city is concluded.”
Once our horses were secured and the city guards had taken up their posts, Corvus and I left the stables. Night had fully fallen now, and Ebonheart’s true character was emerging. The respectable-looking merchants and craftsmen had given way to a different crowd—hooded figures that slipped from shadow to shadow, groups of armed men speaking in low voices, promiscuous women calling from balconies above.
The Crimson Veil awaited—my target’s last known location, according to the brief.
The Lower Warren district lived up to its name. Here, the streets narrowed into cramped alleyways barely wide enough for two people to pass. The buildings leaned drunkenly against each other, their upper stories nearly touching, creating tunnels of perpetual shadow. The cobblestones were broken and uneven, creating a hazardous trek for any unknowing visitor. The air reeked of sewage and excrement. Beggars huddled in doorways, their hollow eyes following our movement. Rats the size of cats scurried openly across our path. Some of the walls were covered with a slimy, foul-smelling mold.
These slums made the ones in my old city look like luxury.
“Even the shadows here feel wrong,” I muttered, noting how the darkness seemed to cling differently than in other parts of the city.
“The Warren remembers its own history,” Corvus replied softly. “Every murder, every act of desperation, every dark deed leaves its mark. The shadows here have soaked up centuries of misery.”
I shuddered at the thought, which sparked uncomfortable memories of my own experiences. How many dark alleys had I lurked in during my previous life? How many desperate acts had I witnessed? I understood now why those shadows had felt different. They were repositories of mortal suffering.
My dark musings were suddenly interrupted by something unexpected that penetrated my ears.
The sound of music floated through the fetid air like a shaft of pure sunlight piercing storm clouds. A woman’s voice, clear as crystal and hauntingly beautiful, accompanied the delicate notes of a lyre. The melody seemed to cut through the Warren’s oppressive atmosphere and transformed the grimy reality around us into something almost magical.
I stopped in my tracks, transfixed. Though I couldn’t make out the song’s lyrics, the dark power flowing through my veins seemed to resonate with each note, creating an almost physical sensation of pleasure.
Corvus’s blindfolded face turned toward the source of the music. “Extraordinary.”
The song was coming from a building ahead, a three-story structure that somehow managed to look both decrepit and inviting. A weathered sign creaked ominously in the still night, depicting a red veil draped over a chalice. Warm light spilled from its windows, and the sound of conversation and laughter mingled with that captivating music. Corvus’s crows flew to the building and perched on the eave. One of the crows remained on his shoulder, looking ever watchful.
As we approached the tavern entrance, the door suddenly swung open and a man stumbled out. Clearly inebriated, he swayed on his feet. Then he blinked at us in surprise. Tensing, I instinctively lowered my hand to the hit of my kukri. But as I studied the man’s face, I realized he was not my target. Just another drunken patron. The man, seeming to suddenly realize the danger he was in, quickly scurried away, muttering to himself. As he passed, I caught the stench of cheap ale on his breath.
“Not him,” I said, then glanced back at Corvus.
He gave a subtle nod, confirming my assessment. “Good perception.”
Steeling myself, I pulled open the tavern’s heavy wooden door and prepared to confront whatever awaited us inside.