The half-Dragon’s warning shattered the hushed atmosphere. The Twins of Twilight hummed eagerly in my hands as I stepped out from our hiding spot. Corvus moved beside me, his sword already drawn, purple energy crackling around the blade.

“Well,” I said, letting my voice carry across the chamber, “this is quite the gathering. Mind if we join?”

Ramon’s face drained of color as he saw us. He quickly passed the wrapped cloth to one of his companions. “Protect the artifact,” he commanded. “We cannot let it fall into the wrong hands.”

I scoffed at the irony of a thief speaking about wrong hands. The dark power within me stirred in anticipation. Yet something held me back from immediate attack—perhaps it was the way these people moved to protect each other, or the haunted determination in their eyes.

“The Serpent’s Fang belongs to the aurorium,” I stated, slowly advancing towards the group. “Return it, and we might be able to discuss your... concerns about the magistrate.”

The vulpine stepped forward, his russet fur catching the firelight. “You know nothing of what’s truly happening in this city, Blackguard. The magistrate is not what he seems.”

“Few things are,” I replied coolly. “But theft and conspiracy rarely improve matters.”

The half-orcs moved to flank us, their weapons drawn. The dwarven ex-guards readied crossbows, while the fernalkin began tracing arcane symbols in the air. I could feel magical energy building in the chamber.

Khalahad, the scaled figure, approached Ramon. There was something familiar about his movement, his fluid grace.

Before I could pursue that thought, a wave of force slammed into me, invisible but powerful enough to drive the breath from my lungs. I managed to keep my footing, but only barely. Beside me, Corvus had already moved to engage the half-orcs, his blade weaving patterns through the air as his crow launched herself at their faces.

The chamber erupted into chaos. I dove behind a fallen column just seconds after the dwarves’ crossbow bolts whistled past my head. The fernalkin’s spell crackled through the air where I’d once stood, leaving the stone floor scorched. Ramon’s group fought with the coordination of people who had trained together, who trusted each other with their lives.

“Fool! Don’t you see? The magistrate is a fiend!” Ramon shouted over the commotion as he backed away to safety. “A being of ancient evil that feeds on the souls of the innocent!”

“And you expect me to take the word of someone who steals from the aurorium of Valic?” I called back, even as part of me remembered the strange sensations I’d felt in the magistrate’s presence. The way reality seemed to bend around him, how his explanations and mannerisms had been too perfect.

“You don’t understand,” Ramon said. “The Serpent’s Fang is the key. It can break his bindings, reveal the magistrate’s true form. That’s why we took it!”

The half-Dragon and his elven companion rushed at me, their weapons drawn. I seized the opportunity to launch my own attack. The Twins of Twilight swept through the air, leaving a trail of purple energy in their wake. The half-Dragon’s great-axe met my kukris with a resounding clash, but I was already moving, using my speed and strength to slip past his guard. My blades found gaps in his armor, drawing first blood.

The half-Dragon roared in pain but didn’t falter. The elf swung at me from the side with her sword, forcing me to disengage. Their coordination spoke of professional training—these weren’t common thugs fighting mindlessly.

Meanwhile, Corvus had escaped the half-orcs’ gambit and faced off with the greater threat, the fernalkin mage. His blindfolded face focused on the magical energies being hurled his way. His crow dove and pecked at the fernalkin’s eyes, disrupting his spellcasting.

The half-Dragon I’d wounded came at me again, but slower now. I parried his strike and countered with a precise thrust that found another gap in his armor. The Twins of Twilight pulsed eagerly as they tasted blood. Part of me wanted to end him, to demonstrate the price of defying a blackguard and a servant of Valic. But another part—perhaps a remnant of my former life—recognized the conviction in his eyes. These people weren’t evil, just misguided.

However, my tactical mind also recognized the potential usefulness of these warriors. Their coordinated movements and obvious training suggested they could be valuable assets to the cause.

I refrained from delivering a killing blow and withdrew my blades.

The half-Dragon stared at me in disbelief, one hand pressed against his bleeding wound. “Y-You... spared me? But why? You’re a blackguard...”

“I am,” I replied coldly, “which means I understand the value of strength and discipline. Killing you would be a waste.” My kukris hummed softly in my hands, still thirsty for blood. “Do not mistake my… ‘mercy’ for weakness. If I truly wanted you dead, you would be.”

The fighting around us gradually slowed as others noticed our exchange. Nearby, Corvus had the fernalkin cornered, his dark blade pressed against the mage’s throat. The fernalkin’s clawed hands trembled, arcane energy flickering and dying as he realized his position. The crow perched on Corvus’s shoulder stared at the precarious situation with intense black eyes.

“Your magic is impressive,” Corvus said. “But ultimately futile against one who walks in the shadows.” The edge of his sword drew a thin line of blood from the mage’s throat. “Yield.”

The fernalkin shuddered and slowly raised his clawed hands in surrender. “I... I yield,” he croaked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Ramon remained where he stood, keeping a cautious distance. “This is precisely what I mean,” he said, gesturing to the wounded half-Dragon and the surrendered fernalkin. “Even servants of darkness can show wisdom and restraint. Yet the magistrate...” His face darkened. “He feeds on the bards’ essences without mercy or purpose, draining them until they’re little more than hollow shells.”

My thoughts drifted to Evangeline. My emotions stirred at the memory of her beautiful emerald eyes, and her defiant spirit that seemed barely contained by the magistrate’s influence. Since first hearing her perform, something had shifted inside me—a recognition of something that belonged in my possession, under my control.

At first, I’d dismissed these feelings as mere attraction, a passing desire to acquire a beautiful treasure. Corvus had made it a point about not getting too involved. But now, faced with the prospect of her essence being consumed by another, I felt the full weight of my attachment. Moreover, during our last visit, I caught a glimpse of her unconditional desire.

The thought of the magistrate feeding on her soul made my blood boil with cold fury. He had dared to collar what belonged to me, to drain the very essence that made her shine so brilliantly. My fingers tightened around the hilts of my kukris as I imagined her performing for him, her spirit dimming with each forced song.

No. She’s mine. The realization settled over me like a mantle of shadow with iron certainty. My feelings for her were not conventional love—it was the burning need to claim and protect. I would free her from the magistrate’s bonds so that she might serve a darker, more honest purpose. Her songs would no longer fuel mere illusions, and she would no longer be a tool to be used and discarded.

Evangeline’s spirit will soon burn solely for me.

I felt the changes in myself, how the dark energy flowing through me had transformed not just my body, but my understanding of power itself. This was what separated me from creatures like the magistrate. His methods were wasteful, violating the natural order by ruling through deception and false promises, and destroying what he claimed to protect. But I did not need to hide behind illusions or pretty lies.

These thoughts would have horrified my former self—the idealistic watchman who believed in justice and protecting the innocent. But Aetheria had stripped away those naïve notions, replacing them with darker truths. Ironically, I had become a creature of darkness—the very thing my persecutors had feared. And the very thing that Lord Valic encouraged.

My expression remained cold and calculated, but deep down, I felt the shadows dance with anticipation. Corvus returned to my side, and I refocused on Ramon and the others. “Your plan,” I said. “Tell me everything.”

Ramon hesitated. Then he looked to the vulpine and gave him a subtle nod of consent. The vulpine took out a rolled parchment from his crossbody bag and spread it across a fallen column. The parchment revealed a complex layout of the mansion that was covered in mathematical points, lines, and arcane symbols. He traced some of the mystical patterns with a clawed finger as he spoke. “The mansion sits atop a convergence of ley lines. During the new moon, when the barriers between realms are thinnest, the magistrate will gather all of Ebonheart’s elite for his grand performance.”

“We are aware of the magistrate’s plans, and his involvement with the bards,” I said.

“Ah, but are you aware of the true extent he plans to use the bards?” Ramon interjected.

I arched an eyebrow. “You mean the ritual?”

“The ritual that involves him binding their essences together through their music, and creating a conduit for his transformation.”

Transformation… I studied the map, noting the numerous patterns of magical energy that branched out from beneath the mansion. Corvus reached out to touch the map, and I guided his hand along the various lines. His head cocked to the side as he registered the patterns, occasionally giving subtle nods of understanding.

“The Ssserpent’s Fang,” Khalahad continued, “can sssever the bindings between the magistrate’s true form and his current shell. But the timing mussst be perfect. Strike too soon, and he’ll simply abort the ritual. Too late, and the bards’ sssouls will be used as fuel for his assscension.”

I frowned bitterly, my thoughts shifted again to Evangeline. I imagined her bound in that chamber with the other bards, her spirit being drained away. No one is going to consume what belongs to me.

“You’ve seen it yourself, haven’t you, Blackguard?” Ramon asked. “The way he twists reality, how nothing about him quite adds up. Why do you think he keeps the bards bound to him?”

“That is what we have been trying to figure out since we got here,” I said.

Ramon nodded. “Well, you got here a little too late. It’s bad enough the bards are suffering now. Each performance—each… rehearsal—weakens them. Have you noticed how some of the bards appear… diminished? When they’re not playing for the magistrate, their music loses its spark, and their eyes grow dull. The magistrate is literally consuming their spirits to maintain his form in our realm.”

I had noticed the change in some of the city’s performers. But Evangeline... I relished the memory of her fierce spirit, her defiant songs. She still burned the brightest, despite the magistrate’s feeding.

“The gathering tomorrow night isn’t just a celebration,” Ramon continued. “With all the bards together, their combined essence will give him enough power to transform Ebonheart into his own domain. The city will become an extension of his evil realm.”

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“So, you defeat the magistrate with the Serpent’s Fang, expose him for what he is… and then what?” I said. “You’ll save the city? Become its new heroes?” The words came out bitter, tainted by memories of my own past idealism.

Ramon shook his head. “We seek only to expose the truth. What happens after that is up to the people of Ebonheart.”

A harsh laugh escaped me. “The people? The same ones who welcomed the current magistrate with open arms? Who turned against anyone who questioned him? They don’t want truth. They want comfort and lies. That is not true order.”

The vulpine’s ears twitched as he studied me intently. “You speak of dominion with interesting conviction, Blackguard. Your words carry the weight of one born to command, not merely serve.”

“My interests are my own,” I stated. “What matters is that they align with yours, for now.”

“Then let us talk strategy,” Ramon said, though his eyes lingered on me with an odd expression, as if seeing something the others had missed.

Corvus placed a hand on my shoulder. “Choose your actions wisely, brother,” he muttered.

“Having doubts?” I replied, keeping my voice low. I did not take my eyes off Ramon.

“No. But I sense something larger at work here.” He tilted his head slightly, as if listening to whispers only he could hear. “Defeating the magistrate may lead to certain... consequences.”

“I expect it to. I am sure the magistrate’s power will have lingering effects on the city for a time. But our prime objective is restoring order, is it not?”

“Of course.” Corvus nodded. “But destiny has a way of working through even our most selfish desires. Power recognizes power. The magistrate’s fall may herald more than just the freedom of your bard, for example.”

I looked sideways at him. “My bard?” I tried to make the notion sound absurd.

Corvus retracted his hand from my shoulder, and he tilted his head in that knowing way again. His silence spoke volumes. I was apparently a terrible liar. It was unnerving that even the blind warrior could see through my deepest thoughts.

I gritted my teeth in frustration and returned my attention back to the rest of the group. “How exactly does one defeat the magistrate with the dagger?” I asked them, changing the subject.

“The dagger must pierce his shadow during the height of the ritual, when he’s channeling the bards’ essssence,” Khalahad explained. “That moment when he’ssss most connected to their power is also when he’sss most vulnerable.”

“And what happens to the bards when these connections are severed?”

“They’ll be freed,” Ramon assured. “Though weakened from his feeding, their souls will be their own again.”

The vulpine cast a wary glance at me and Ramon. “There is one other stipulation. The ritual must be performed by someone with both shadow and substance—one who walks the line between darkness and light.”

His knowing gaze met mine, and again I felt that strange stirring, like destiny shifting in the shadows. “You mean a blackguard.”

“Originally,” the vulpine said, his ears twitching thoughtfully, “we had planned for Khalahad to perform the ritual. As a cleric of Valic, his resonance with divine power is strong. His mastery of the divine arts far exceeds even Ramon’s considerable abilities.”

Ramon nodded in agreement. “Khalahad’s connection to Valic’s power runs deeper than mine. His prayers carry more weight, his spells manifest with greater potency. But now, your presence changes things. Blackguards possess a unique connection to both shadow and divine power. Your resonance is much stronger than ours.”

“The Serpent’s Fang requires balance,” the vulpine explained. “Light and shadow, corruption and order. A cleric’s pure faith can wield it, yes, but a blackguard’s mastery of both darkness and divine power makes for a more potent conduit.”

I arched an eyebrow. “And you trust us with this power?”

“Trust has nothing to do with it,” Ramon interjected. “The Fang responds to capability, not morality. Your very nature as a blackguard—the way you blend darkness with purpose—makes you ideally suited to break the magistrate’s bindings.”

I considered this. I also—inadvertently—had a personal stake in the matter. My dedication to Evangeline practically ensured my commitment. That was what Corvus had warned me about. And yet, I intended to manipulate the situation to my own bidding. The darkness within me demanded retribution for the magistrate’s presumption of claiming what I had deemed as mine.

My gaze flitted over to Khalahad, who continued watching me with curious intent. I turned to him, studying his scaled features more carefully. Then a spark of realization hit me. “Now I remember where I saw you—the aurorium. That was you watching from the shadows when Vesper spoke to us.”

The scaled cleric inclined his head slightly. “Very observant. Yessss, I was there.”

“You were anticipating our arrival. Hoping we’d help from the beginning,” I realized, pieces falling into place. “The way Vesper spoke about Ramon, the timing of our arrival...”

“We did not originally know that you would be coming,” Khalahad admitted, inclining his head. “But fortune favored us.”

I smiled coldly. In a strange way, part of me appreciated the manipulation. Even so, I bristled at the thought of being used like that. “Clever. Though dangerous. What if we’d simply killed you all and taken the dagger?”

“Then we would have died knowing we’d exhausted every possible option to save Ebonheart,” Ramon interjected. “But I suspected you might be different from other blackguards.”

“You trust too easily, Ramon.”

He frowned. “Trust is necessary for any resistance to—”

“Trust,” I cut him off coldly, “is what gets idealists killed.”

“Peace, brother,” Corvus said to me softly, placing his hand on my shoulder again. “They took a calculated risk, as we all must do in these dark times.”

Ramon nodded. “Indeed. Sometimes the greatest allies come from unexpected places.”

The memories of my past life surfaced—the betrayals I’d suffered when I’d fought alone against corruption, believing in justice and common cause. But things were different now. The blackguards of the Dreadspire Sanctum had shown me how true strength came from a unified purpose. Among them, I’d found my rightful place.

“I trust in power and the natural order,” I continued, thinking of my fellow brothers, of Corvus’s unwavering presence at my side. “In allegiance earned through strength and dominion. Not blind faith in noble causes.”

“You seem to speak from experience,” the vulpine observed quietly.

“I speak from scars,” I corrected him. “Those who I once considered allies turned against me when it served their interests. I had sworn oaths of loyalty, only to watch them be twisted to my detriment. In the end, principles meant nothing against ambition.”

Ramon studied me with renewed interest. “Yet here you are, agreeing to help us.”

I fixed him with a hard stare. “Watch your allies carefully, Ramon. The most dangerous betrayals come from those closest to you...” I paused a moment as I felt a peculiar sensation creep along my spine—the feeling of being watched.

The vulpine’s ears suddenly twitched and swiveled towards one of the darker corners of the chamber. He turned his head and his russet fur bristled slightly.

At the same moment, Corvus tensed beside me. His head tilted as if catching a sound beyond mortal hearing. Then his crow let out a soft, warning caw and shifted restlessly on his shoulder, black eyes fixed on the shadows near the chamber’s far entrance.

“Something is amiss,” the blind warrior muttered to me.

Ramon, Khalahad, and the rest of the rebel group perked up.

“We’ve been compromised,” Ramon said. “The shadows deceive us. Hidden spies. Probably agents of the magistrate.”

Khalahad hissed. “We’ve sssstayed in one place for too long.”

More shapes emerged from the shadows around us. I couldn’t make out their true forms, but I was aware of their presence.

“Scatter,” Ramon commanded his people. “Use the old routes. We’ll meet at the arranged place.” As the rest of the rebels began to flee, he turned to me, his voice still urgent. “Tomorrow night, Blackguard. The gathering begins at sunset.” As I opened my mouth to respond, he turned and fled.

“We should leave as well, brother,” Corvus said.

The shadows moved around us and coalesced into grotesque forms. What had been mere darkness moments before now solidified into twisted, fiendish shapes. Their bodies were a nightmarish fusion of shadow and substance, with elongated limbs ending in razor-sharp claws. Empty eye sockets burned with an unholy purple flame that matched the glow of my weapons.

The Twins of Twilight hummed eagerly in my hands as the first creature lunged. I leaned my head back just seconds before its swiping claws could make contact. My kukris carved through the monster’s shadowy form, and it dissolved into black dust with an otherworldly shriek.

Corvus’s movements were precise and deadly, his sword leaving trails of purple-black flames as it severed limbs and pierced corrupted flesh. His crow flew about the chamber, attempting to distract the creatures. Their moment of hesitation allowed Corvus enough time to finish off two more of the fiendish creatures with clean, angled strikes across their bodies. They collapsed into dust under the assault.

“We cannot keep this up,” Corvus said. “More are coming!”

As if on cue, I felt another group of shadowy creatures emerging from the blackness around us. Dozens of twisted shapes took form from the umbral voids. These weren’t mindless constructs of magic—they were intelligent creatures that coordinated their attacks with disturbing precision.

I spun away from another creature’s attack, only to catch another’s claws across my cheek. White-hot pain exploded through my face as corrupt energy seared my flesh. The wound burned with unnatural intensity, far worse than any normal injury. Grunting, I retaliated, and severed the creature’s head from its shoulders with my blades. It collapsed and dissolved into black dust.

Blood ran down my face. Whatever these creatures were, their touch carried a corruption that fought against even my innate healing abilities.

“We must go now!” Corvus shouted, his sword carving through another being that emerged from the shadows.

We fought our way towards the exit. The creatures pressed in from all sides, reaching for us. Corvus’s crow screamed a warning as the ceiling above us rippled with darkness.

The burning pain from my wound increased. Each heartbeat pumped waves of corrupt energy through my body, and I could feel something foreign trying to take root in my very soul. My body’s natural and magical defenses tried to fight it off, but it seemed like a losing battle as I slowly felt my strength depleting.

More corrupted shadows peeled away from the walls, forming into new monsters that reached for us with hungry claws. For every monster we destroyed, two more took its place. The Twins of Twilight whipped through the air, clearing a path through the umbral horror while Corvus’s glowing sword kept our flanks clear.

My lungs burned and my legs ached, but the ominous sounds around us motivated us to keep moving. I chanced a quick look back and saw a tide of twisted forms flowing through the darkness like living ink, their reaching claws promising agony. The wound on my cheek throbbed in response to their presence.

We reached the narrow staircase that led back up to the outside cemetery. The ancient steps were treacherous enough when we’d descended them carefully, and now they became a deadly challenge at full sprint. Twice I nearly lost my footing on the worn stone, saved only by my agility and Corvus’s steadying hand.

Finally, we reached the top. I threw my weight against the trapdoor. It resisted at first, ages of rust fighting against my urgency. At last, with mine and Corvus’s combined strength, the door yielded and hinged open. We quickly climbed out of the hole and Corvus slammed the door shut behind us.

We fled from the cemetery under Ebonheart’s evening sky, not daring to slow our pace until we’d put several streets between us and the temple ruins. Corvus’s murder of crows followed us once more, watching our pursuit from above. The wound on my cheek continued throbbing with corrupt energy, each pulse sending fresh waves of fiery pain through my flesh.

Finally, in a shadowed alley far from the temple district, we stopped to catch our breath. Corvus’s favorite crow cawed on his shoulder, seeming to inform us that we were safe—for now. But Corvus, still alert, had his head tilted to listen to the city’s rhythms.

“Those were no ordinary shadow constructs,” I said. “Do you think they are really involved with the magistrate somehow?”

“Most likely,” Corvus agreed grimly. “Those were servants of something far older and more terrible—Fiendish in nature. It is now obvious the magistrate knows everything. And he will most likely be expecting us tomorrow.”

Leaning against the wall, I touched my face and winced at the unnatural heat radiating from the wound. This was different from normal injuries. This sensation carried an ancient malevolence that seemed to recognize and respond to my own innate power.

Corvus turned to me. “That wound needs tending.”

I straightened from the wall, fighting against another jolt of pain. “There’s no time. We still have so much more to do before tomorrow.”

“Brother.” Corvus’s voice carried an edge of command that made me pause. “That’s no ordinary injury. I can sense the corruption spreading through your body, weakening you. Left unchecked, it could prove fatal.”

“I’ve survived worse,” I argued, though another pulse of burning pain made me grit my teeth.

“You’ll be of no use to anyone if you collapse during tomorrow’s gathering. Let me tend to your injury. I know certain prayers that can combat this type of corruption.”

“I can heal myself,” I protested, attempting to draw on the basic spells I’d begun to learn since my time as a blackguard. A weak pulse of healing energy flickered around my fingers, but the wound only burned hotter in response.

“Your powers are still developing, brother,” Corvus said. “This injury is beyond basic healing. It requires... a more experienced touch.”

“But we need to contact the Angels’ Mark, secure those invitations for tomorrow night, and—”

“I’ll handle the arrangements with the thieves’ guild.”

I wanted to argue further, but my rational side recognized the truth in his words. Whatever those corrupted creatures had been, their touch carried a taint that even my own healing abilities struggled against. At last, I conceded with a sigh. “Fine, but be quick about it.”

Corvus bowed his head and pressed his hands together in a praying position. He spoke words in an ancient tongue. Moments later, purple energy gathered around his hands. Then he guided his palm over my wounded cheek. The sensation was like ice and fire combined as his power fought against the corruption trying to take hold. I shivered. The pain gradually receded. After concluding his prayer, Corvus withdrew his hand, and his healing aura subsided.

I touched my face. The wound was already gone.

“That will suffice for now,” he said. “But you need proper rest to fully recover. Return to the Silver Crown.”

He turned and left before I could respond or protest. I reluctantly headed back to the inn, my mind already racing about tomorrow night’s events.

Tomorrow... My blood churned with anticipation and possessive fury. Tomorrow night would change everything—the magistrate’s reign would end, and Evangeline would finally be mine.