Crest Castle

High Harbour, Trinitan Empire

Western Wayland

19th of Frostfang, 475 (5E)

Kiera stands on the battlements of Castle Crest, gazing out over High Harbour as snowflakes drift down from a steel-grey sky. The cold wind bites at her face, causing the remaining pain from her burns to flare up with every gust. The once lively city below is now cloaked in a soft, white blanket, muffling the usual clamour of daily life. The snow clings to the city’s white stone walls and towers, making them appear even brighter against the backdrop of the overcast sky. She looks at the harbour, noticing wooden cranes scattered around and ruined buildings. People are still rebuilding what the explosion in the hideout destroyed. Now, however, there isn’t much movement, with ships battened down and the water’s surface barely disturbed by the occasional ripple. Her eyes veer to the core district, to the grand statue of the first builder of the city, looking upon the main entrance with his back to the castle.

“Are you sure standing in this cold isn’t detrimental for your wounds, Princess?”

Kiera glances behind her. Cedric Snakehand approaches, his dark cloak stark against the whiteness of the battlements. Snowflakes settle on his shoulders and hat as he walks, his expression as unreadable as ever. When he reaches Kiera’s side, he pulls his cloak tighter around him, and his breath forms small clouds in the cold air.

“I come here to think,” Kiera answers, her voice steady despite the cold. She keeps gazing in the distance, to the distant pine trees behind the city gates, “I have been stuck in this castle far too long.”

She turns slightly to face him, the movement causing a twinge of discomfort in her neck. “I assume you have been looking into what I asked?”

Cedric nods, “I have. I could not find Aldrin, but I looked into his family, House Malver. They are a minor house, situated in Calador. They owned a small village within the duchy of Wildspire.”

Kiera frowns, “Wouldn’t that lead us right to him then?”

“Well, there is an issue, my Lady. They did...own a village.”

“I don’t understand.” Kiera crosses her arms, warming herself up.

“House Malver is gone, Princess. All I know is that they had some dispute with their liege duke. I suppose rather than settling things with words, the duke wiped them off the realm.”

The young huntress parts her lips and looks away, sighing. “Shit.”

“Most likely this Aldrin is already dead.” Cedric added.

Kiera shakes her head, slightly annoyed, “Why didn’t someone intervene?”

“Most other lands aren’t as united as we are, Princess. Calador has many kings, all fighting for power.”

The princess pauses and looks over the city again, a defeated look in her eyes. “You have my thanks, Lord Cedric.”

“Princess, when you asked me this before, I didn’t question it. But if I may ask now, why the secrecy?”

Kiera turns her back to the battlement, leaning against it, watching the garrison doing their everyday duties. She takes a deep breath, her lungs stinging with the frigid air. Right then and there, she is considering telling him everything. All her life, Cedric has treated her well and respected her. He never treats her like a child and recognizes her strength. But Cedric is the Lord Inquisitor, one of the greatest spymasters in the realm. If she doesn’t tell him something now, he will most definitely search for answers, and he will find them.

“If you really want to know, I wanted to find Aldrin because he’s a childhood friend of my friend, Tommen.”

“You mean the one who passed away in the orphanage?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

Kiera nods, “Why the secrecy? Well, you know my father. If he is out there somewhere, I want to meet him.”

Cedric inclines his head and turns to the garrison as well. Kiera looks at his face, trying to find even the tiniest giveaway of how he feels. But she can’t. For some reason, she fears he doesn’t believe her lie. “Honor demands me to tell your father when he asks. But until then, he won’t hear it from me.”

“Thank you.” Kiera says softly. The Lord Inquisitor bows and heads down the stairs of the battlement, leaving Kiera alone on the wall, save for the occasional patrolling guard.

She gazes over the city again, thinking. If what Cedric said is really true, what would that even mean? Do Kiera and Elynn have to tread this path without him? Would it even be enough? And where would they even start? Then she remembers the words of her mother in the letter she had written. ‘First of all, you have to confirm your heritage.’

But how? Would her mother really tell her all of this but won’t guide her on the right path? It can’t be. Her mother was cunning and clever. Suddenly, she has an idea. She reaches into the folds of her thick fur tunic and retrieves the letter. She unfolds the paper and holds it in front of her, inspecting it. She reads it again, word for word, but can’t find any secret message of the sort. She starts turning the page, holding it in the skylight, but still, there is nothing. “Mother...show me the way...please,” Kiera whispers. Then, she notices a tiny piece of drawing on the right edge of the paper. A half circle with a strange symbol inside that looks like it’s cut off. The puzzle starts to fall together. She needs to find Elynn. She folds it up and makes her way back inside the castle. Greeted by the warmth of the hearths, Kiera walks down the length of the grand hall, through the back door, and toward her chambers. When she sees one of the servants walking through the corridor, Kiera walks up to her. “Could you please bring me the healer, Elynn?”

“Of course, Princess.” the servant bows and walks further. The princess enters her room, closes the door behind her, and takes off her tunic and cloak, leaving only her velvet undertunic and pants. She places the letter on her dresser and suddenly feels unwell. She clears her throat, standing on the carpet in the middle of her chambers, putting a hand on her upper chest. Her ears start ringing, and her breath quickens, but she doesn’t notice. Her vision is slightly blurry, and her heart is pounding in her throat. She stumbles to her bed and sits down, clasping her chest. She can’t breathe. Heaving and grasping the support of her bed’s canopy with her other hand, she hears nothing anymore. Nothing but her own rapid heartbeat, ringing ears, and the walls that are closing in like they’re going to crush her.

She can’t breathe. Her lungs are burning.

She needs help.

Suddenly, a pair of hands touch her shoulders. She looks up, seeing Elynn’s blurry face. She watches her mouth move, but she can’t hear her.

The walls close in.

Elynn sits beside her, and Kiera feels a hand rub her back.

“Kiera.”

Suddenly, she snaps out of it, noticing she is hyperventilating. But it’s like she still needs more air.

“It’s okay, Kiera. I’m here. Everything is alright.” Elynn says, resting her head on Kiera’s shoulder. “Try breathing slower.”

The princess, still breathing heavily, starts to slow down. Her hands, neck, and forehead are drenched in sweat, and locks of her hair stick to her face.

“Breathe together with me, okay?” Elynn says, “On me. Breathe in.”

Kiera breathes in.

“Breathe out.”

Together, they blow out the air from their lungs. Kiera’s breath is shaky, however. Kiera follows Elynn multiple times until she has calmed down. Her hands are now tingly. The healer wraps her arm around Kiera and rubs her unwounded arm. “You’re alright now.”

“I can’t do this,” Kiera sobs, tears running down both her cheeks. “I just can’t.”

“I know. It’s a lot, isn’t it?” Elynn whispers, using a handkerchief to wipe off some sweat from Kiera’s forehead. “If you’re wondering, you just had a panic attack.”

Kiera sniffles, sobbing again. “I’m sorry Elynn, but I quit.”

Elynn softly smiles, “That is okay. You know what I think?”

“What?” Kiera asked with a broken voice.

“I know your mother didn’t want us to, but I think we should finally tell your father. Alara had the best intentions, but such a task of this scale is too heavy a weight to put on two young girls, don’t you think?”

Kiera looks at Elynn, her face and eyes red and wet with tears. She nods. “Can you tell him, please?”

“I will. Don’t worry. You lay down, and take a good breath. I will go tell your father, and bring him with me.”

“Thank you so much, Elynn.” Kiera sobs again, “You have no idea how much that means to me.”

Elynn smiles, her own eyes getting teary. She shrugs it off and stands up, “It’s nothing. I’m here to serve you, Princess.”

She leaves through the door and gently closes it behind her. Kiera stands to grab the letter from her dresser, then sits cross-legged on her red velvet blanket, opening it. Not to reread it but to look at her mother’s handwriting. It’s so beautiful and elegant. Her hand held the pen that wrote this letter. Her soft hand that used to rub Kiera’s palms when she was little to calm her down. She remembers how good it felt, how it put her to sleep immediately. Oh, what she would give to feel her mother stroke her hand’s palm again. She can’t stop crying, stroking the words on the paper. She feels so defeated, so miserable, so...vulnerable. Elynn is right. She is only seventeen. Her mother probably didn’t expect to die this early and hoped her daughter would be much older to carry this burden. But as with many things in life, it didn’t go as expected.

“I miss you, mama.” Kiera cries.

What feels like way too long, only ten minutes pass. Kiera’s door gently swings open, revealing the king himself in a black leather tunic embroidered with gold thread leaf patterns. His long black, curly hair is neatly tied together, and his black beard is trimmed. Elynn stands behind him. He doesn’t seem angry; instead, he is worried sick. Upon seeing him, Kiera descends into tears again. He hurries towards her, sits on the side of her bed, and takes her into his arms.

“Elynn told me everything,” Bryce says. Kiera feels so relieved he finally knows. All this time mourning her mother and trying to further her wishes, she nearly forgot she has another parent she loves and who loves her dearly—someone who would burn the whole world down to save his little daughter.

“I’m sorry...” Kiera’s sobs are muffled.

“Don’t be sorry, daughter.” Bryce whispers. Elynn stands in the doorway, hugging her left arm.

“You’re not alone in this. Not anymore.” Bryce adds, keeping his daughter in his arms. His words are so comforting. Kiera knows he is strong. He is a king. He has so much power to do what is necessary. Still, deep in the back of her mind, Kiera is afraid. Afraid that she pulled him into something that might end up with him lying next to her mother. But right now, being in her father’s arms makes her feel safe. Something she hasn’t felt ever since her mother’s death. She stops hugging and sniffles, wiping her wet face with her sleeve. “Did you know about my real father?”

Bryce sighs and visibly swallows, recalling a memory.

Pathwind Village

Eastern Ghostspire

The Almalyr Kingdom

28th of New Dawn, 458 (5E)

17 years ago...

“Alara!”

Bryce trudged through the snow in a cold, dark village. Aside from the howling wind and biting cold, there was no one else outside. Some lights flickered in the windows of some houses.

“Alara where are you?!”

Bryce was much younger, still in his early twenties. His leather-gloved hand clung to a sword, its steel as cold as the winter snow. He rocked a shorter beard, and his face was red by the frost. As he continued to stumble through the thick white carpet, a person stood ahead, shrouded by the frigid fog. Bryce pointed his sword forward.

“You! Tell me where she is, right now!”

The figure kept standing there, unphased by the weather. Suddenly, Bryce sensed a presence close by behind him, without knowing how he just knew to duck. And he was right. He heard the zing of a blade above his head. He turned while swinging his sword, slashing the attacker’s chest with a growl. Even that much younger, his build was already stoic and broad. While the attacker staggered from the blade, Bryce dashed forward and impaled the man through his abdomen, blood sputtering on the snow behind him. Footsteps behind. He pulled out his bloody sword and turned. The figure ahead was way closer, running at him with immense speed. Their swords clashed. And again, and again. Bryce caught the second attacker’s blade on his handguard, redirected it away, and punched him in the face. He thrust his sword, but the man grabbed his sword hand and kicked him in his stomach. But Bryce was too strong. He hung onto the man and tossed him to the ground like a wet towel. He climbed onto him, sending punch after punch into the man’s face.

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“Where is she?!”

Punch. Punch. Punch. The man didn’t respond.

“Where is she?!” Bryce repeated, screaming.

Face covered in bruises and blood, the man choked and coughed out red. “Windmill...north of here...”

Bryce’s eyes widened. He got off of him, took his sword, and thrust it through his throat, ending his life for good. After that, with his sword readied, he ran as fast as he could north of the village to the windmills further up the hill. Every step felt like ages. He climbed and climbed, panted and heaved. There they were. A whole cluster of windmills, but there was only one he knew he had to go to. All he had to do was follow the trails of blood and bodies that formed the path to one windmill. He feared the worst. Every worst possible scenario rushed through his mind. The trail of blood ended by the door leading into the windmill. One more body lay in the doorway, but it wasn’t Alara. He stepped over it and entered the mill. There she was, huddled up against the wall. Only a few years older than Kiera is today. She held a baby in her arms, who was surprisingly quiet, wrapped in a towel. She was covered in blood and had a knife pointed at Bryce. “Stay back!” her voice shook but sounded full of fight.

“Alara, it’s me!” Bryce panted. Then he noticed the other man lying with his back against the wall. He held a bloody sword, and two dead corpses lay with him. However, he had four massive gashes all across his torso that left a puddle of crimson beneath him. The man looked up at Bryce, and he swore his eyes were like that of a lizard, bright yellow, with slits as pupils. “More...are coming...” he muttered, “You...need to...get her away from here.”

“No, you’re coming with us!” Alara commanded, then looked at Bryce, “Please help him up!”

Without questioning, Bryce walked up to the strange man and slung his arm around his neck, trying to pull him up. But he groaned in pain, nearly screamed. Blood seeped through his clothes, dripping on the red-soaked wooden floor.

“Damnit, just leave me!” he growled.

“No! I am not leaving with you, Hahvulon!” Alara said stubbornly, but Bryce grabbed her and started pushing her out. “We need to leave, now! There is nothing we can do for him!”

“No!” Alara yelled, the baby crying as well. “Hahvulon get up!”

But all he could do was look at her with a weak, helpless gaze. He was done. As Bryce stepped outside, he saw a torchlight approaching from behind the hill. He pulled Alara away and finally convinced her to move on, but she and the baby were crying while running.

Present day...

“We escaped, and set sail for Wayland, where my father was king at the time.” Bryce says, holding Kiera’s hand, “He protected us ever since that day.”

Elynn has joined Kiera by the bed, listening to Bryce with crossed arms. Kiera already knew. She read the letter, but it hasn’t really sunk in yet until now. Bryce may not be her real father, but he is the only father she knows.

“I don’t know much about your father other than his name, which is Hahvulon. But he died protecting your mother until his final breath. If it wasn’t for him, you wouldn’t be here.”

Kiera doesn’t know what to say. The way Bryce talks about him makes her wish she met him. He sounded like he loved Alara a lot.

“I never knew him.” Kiera shrugs, rubbing on her cheek, covered in dried tears. “To me, you will always be my real father.” She nods, forcing a smile through all her pain. Bryce hugs her again. “Thank you, my sweet daughter.”

He then stops hugging and stands up. “The first order of business is sending someone to recall Darrius. The realm needs to know what truly happened here and the threat that might be lurking not only here but everywhere else.”

“What can I do?” Kiera asks.

Bryce glances at Elynn, then back to Kiera. “If what your mother said is true, you will always be a target to this Touch of Shadows. The attack in the orphanage makes that clear as day. I will have my guard protect you around the clock. I will handle this whole thing from now on. And, Elynn...”

Elynn perks up, listening as Bryce turns to her.

“I appreciate what you’ve done for my daughter. She seems to trust you, thus, so will I.”

Bryce is about to head through the door, but Kiera asks another question. “But what about our lineage?”

“Let us worry about that later.” Bryce says, “Besides, I am certain there will be more like you two out there.”

Kiera nods but squints her eyes in thought. “One more thing. If the Shadows tried to take me from her, why did she join them later? And why did they try to kill me?”

Bryce pauses. He doesn’t really have an answer for that. “I’m sure your mother had her reasons. But...if I were to guess...it is much easier to protect someone from within the enemy than without. As for you, I don’t know, Kiera.”

His daughter quietens, looking away. He might be right about her mother. She still has so many unanswered questions, but she feels relieved to have told her father everything. For a moment, she hopes maybe her father can resolve all of this, and she can go back to hunting in peace without having to watch her back.

> It is believed that the Hinos, compared to the race of men, were ultimately superior. Both in mind and body. They had a natural affinity for all kinds of magic arts and scaled skin that not even the sharpest spear could pierce. There were attempts at alliances between men and Hinos during the Dawn Era, but they never lasted. Tensions rose, and the first war between the two races had begun. They called it the War of Serpents... - “The Book of the Rose, Chapter XII” by Emperor Midas I of the House Bladesong.

Somewhere unknown

A few hours later...

The cold bites through the thick stone walls of the chamber, seeping into every crevice. A small fire crackles in the hearth, offering little warmth against the encroaching chill. Urvel stands before a large oak table, his sharp eyes scanning the faces of those gathered around it. The flickering light casts long shadows across the room. Around the table stand the trusted members of the Wayland cell of the Touch of Shadows, handpicked by Urvel years ago for their loyalty and skill. One of them is the master assassin Tavianna, her dark hair pulled back tightly upon her grey skin. She leans against the wall, and her eyes are narrowed. Two others are Anya and Aveline, twin sisters with pale skin and dark brown eyes, who are known for their deadly skill with double blades. They both sit nonchalantly by the table, communicating with each other without words. Carlo and Talion are the muscles of the group, and Cylfina, the group’s best infiltrator, toys with a dagger by Tavianna. Then comes Salagar, a brooding figure in the corner, watching everyone in silence but intensely. Lastly, Lariana, the newest member. She looks as young as Kiera, fiddling nervously with the hem of her cloak. Urvel brought her in to replace Alara as his tracker.

“We have a problem,” Urvel begins, his voice low and measured. “Bryce knows.”

Tavianna pushes off from the wall and steps forward. “Then we should act quickly. Take him and his daughter out. They’ve been nothing but a thorn in our side.”

Urvel shakes his head. “No. Not yet. We need to be careful. I have stood face to face with Kiera. She may only be seventeen, but that girl has strength that goes above most of you.”

“What do you propose, then?” Talion asks, his voice a deep rumble. “We can’t just sit back and do nothing. If Bryce knows, soon, the entire empire knows. And working in the shadows will become much harder for all of us. Not only within the empire.”

“We need to wait,” Urvel replies sternly, his gaze flicking to each of them in turn. “Our man within the court provides us with reliable information. We focus on him, and track the king’s next move. His moves will determine ours. But we will not strike until the time is right.”

The room falls into a tense silence. Urvel can sense the unease among his people, the hunger for action gnawing at them. But they trust him. They have to. He has led them this far.

“We brought this upon ourselves by killing Alara.” Anya breaks the silence, and her sister finishes her sentence, “At least with Alara we only had her daughter to worry about. Now look what’s happening. We will have to fight the entire empire if this gets out of hand.”

“Do I have to remind all of you we abandoned Wayland?” Urvel snaps back, clenching his fists and leaning on them on the table, “As long as we keep the Bloodcrests at bay, none of the other cells will be in danger. Our focus lies with Volar’an.”

He stops leaning and takes a step back, looking at everyone, “Trust in our spy. We just learned from him Kiera has been looking into someone named Aldrin Malver. Now, there is nothing left of his family but corpses, though his death has never been recorded. Information like this is crucial. Does anyone have any questions?”

Everyone remains silent.

Urvel nods. “Good. You’re all dismissed.”

Just as Urvel said those words, the temperature in the room drops even further, and a familiar, oppressive presence fills the air. The shadows along the walls deepen, and the flickering flames in the hearth dim to a faint glow. Urvel stiffens, recognizing the signs. The others in the room instinctively back away, their eyes widening in a mix of awe and fear. A tall, imposing figure emerges from the darkness at the far end of the chamber, his skin catching the faint light, reflecting it with an eerie, almost unnatural gleam. He steps forward, his slit-pupiled eyes locking onto Urvel with a cold, calculating gaze. The air seems to hum with power as he moves, every step measured and deliberate.

“Master Xinz’r,” Urvel says, bowing his head slightly. His voice is respectful but steady. “We were just discussing—”

“I know what you were discussing,” Xinz’r interrupts, his voice as smooth as silk yet carrying an underlying hiss of menace. “Kiera Bloodcrest has indeed become a thorn in our side, but she is not the threat you should concern yourselves with.”

Urvel remains silent, waiting for Xinz’r to continue. He seems to be unphased by his presence. The others, however, dare not even breathe.

“The Black Rose is what matters,” Xinz’r says, his gaze sweeping over the group. “If that girl turns out to become too much of a threat, we shall eliminate her. But only when I command it.”

There is no question in Xinz’r’s tone, only cold certainty. He turns his gaze back to the overseer. “You have done well so far, Urvel. But remember, we cannot afford mistakes like the one seventeen years ago. Do not disappoint me.”

Urvel nods, feeling the weight of Xinz’r’s words settle over him like a shroud. “I will not fail you, Xinz’r. You know that.”

The Scion’s lips curl into a faint smile, one that holds no warmth. Only Urvel would dare address him improperly. “See that you don’t. The ruins we found in Volar’an hold promising results. We are getting closer to discovering the location of the Black Rose. I can feel it.”

With that, Xinz’r turns and disappears back into the shadows from which he has come, leaving the room feeling colder and darker than before. The tension that had gripped the group slowly eases, though none dare to speak.

Urvel looks around the table once more, his resolve hardened. “You heard the man,” he says quietly. “We proceed as planned. We shall observe the Bloodcrests, and rely on our man inside their court.”

One by one, the members of the Touch of Shadows nod, their expressions a mixture of determination and fear. They know what is at stake, and they know that failure is not an option.

As they begin to disperse, Urvel looks at the map of Oryn spread out on the table. The most eastern continent is encircled with black ink. Volar’an. But with silence come the whispers.

“Kiera escaped you.”

“Kiera nearly killed you.”

“Oh yes, bested by a youngling!”

The voices giggle, dozens of them.

“She is going to kill youu~”

“Yeees, yes! She will be the end of you and your friends!”

“You have to kill her!”

“Kill her!”

“She is plotting your demise with her father right nooow~

Urvel growls softly and, through sheer willpower and mental strength, pushes the voices out of his head. He cannot disobey Xinz’r’s orders. He will not disobey.

“Everything alright?” a feminine voice asks from behind him. He turns quickly, startled. It’s Cylfina, Urvel’s infiltrator. Her purple eyes and silver hair give her an ageless, ethereal appearance, though the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes hint that she’s older than Urvel.

“Yes, everything’s fine,” Urvel replies, regaining his composure. “What is it, Cylfina?”

“I wanted to tell you before Xinz’r interrupted the meeting. You might not believe this, but a friend of mine used to work as a servant for the old Malver count in Wildspire. The village was razed by their own duke for rebellion, and most of the Malvers were killed. My friend serves the duke now, but she might know what happened to this Aldrin, and why Kiera is looking for him.”

Urvel rubs his chin, thinking. “Do it. In the meantime, I need to speak with someone.”

Cylfina nods and leaves, while Urvel walks through the doorway Xinz’r exited. He enters a small chamber where Xinz’r stands with his back to him, rifling through papers on a wooden desk. Urvel takes a deep breath and quietly closes the door behind him. “What was that about?”

Xinz’r freezes for a moment, then continues reading a paper. “What?” His voice is emotionless.

“You know what,” Urvel snaps. “You’re undermining my authority. You’ve never done this before. So why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

Xinz’r turns slowly, his crimson, lizard-like eyes piercing into Urvel. “You’re losing them. I needed to remind them who they work for.”

Urvel squints, his jaw clenched. His voice remains forcedly calm. “What are you talking about?”

“They’re talking behind your back. They’re judging you for killing Alara,” Xinz’r says, flipping through another paper.

“That was your order,” Urvel retorts.

“And I trusted you to sell it to the others. Alara had no love for any of us. She was always a threat. She joined us only to protect her daughter. We had our chance to take her daughter seventeen years ago, but you failed.”

“Because Hahvulon was with her,” Urvel growls, struggling to control his anger. “He slaughtered over thirty of my men, while you hid in crypts, trying to resurrect your people, all while mine were dying in the mud FOR YOU!” His cheek twitches as he yells. Xinz’r’s emotionless gaze only infuriates him further. “You sacrifice humans with ease for your own gain, and you dare tell me how to run my people? Well, I’ll tell you this, Xinz’r.” Urvel steps closer, pointing at the unflinching Scion. “You worry about your people, and I’ll worry about mine. My cell is loyal. They’ll never betray me.”

A tense silence follows. Xinz’r breaks it first; his voice is surprisingly calm. “Control them.”

With that, Xinz’r brushes past Urvel and opens the door. Urvel catches a glimpse of some of his underlings watching before they quickly look away as Xinz’r exits.

Xinz’r vanishes into a purple mist, leaving him alone in the doorway. He takes a deep breath, adjusts his ponytail, and calls out, “Everyone, gather here! Bring the others too!” His command sends the members of his cell into action, quickly assembling around the table. Soon, the room is filled with at least twenty people—Urvel’s most trusted, along with enforcers and lower-ranking members who are currently not on missions.

Urvel begins pacing in front of the crowd, his hands clasped behind his back. “Thank you all for coming so soon after our last meeting,” he starts, his voice steady but intense. “It has come to my attention some of you might have...concerns about how I handled Alara. I understand some of you may have grown fond of her.”

As he moves through the group, his sharp gaze occasionally lingers on certain members. He stops beside Talion, staring him down. “Talion, you were one of her closer partners. What did you think of her?”

Talion, taller than Urvel and unafraid, meets his gaze head-on. “It doesn’t matter what I think, overseer. Alara deserved to die.”

Urvel nods, considering his words. “Alara deserved to die. Why?”

“She couldn’t control her daughter. Alara was becoming a liability.”

“Exactly,” Urvel confirms, his eyes sweeping the room. “Kiera’s actions after Alara’s death forced us to destroy our own hideout in High Harbour. We were once shadows, invisible, unknown to the world. Now, word is spreading already.”

He continues pacing, slowly making his way back to the head of the room. “And now, the great, fearsome Xinz’r wants us to overlook the fact that Kiera cost us everything in Wayland. And I know why.”

Back at the head of the table, he leans forward, hands resting on the surface. “Xinz’r doesn’t want us to kill her because she bears Hahvulon’s blood. He wants to use her in his ritual to resurrect his kind. He might have promised us a place in his new world, but I don’t care. If we do what I’m about to ask of you, he’ll never get the chance. And it will be us who remain in power.”

The room falls into a tense silence, the weight of Urvel’s words settling over the group. One member, hesitant but bold, speaks up. “Are you asking us to defy the Echo of Silence?”

Urvel straightens up. “I’m asking you to follow me in doing what we should have been done years ago. Xinz’r thinks he can manipulate us to serve his own ends. I say we strike. We’ll launch a night attack on Crest Castle and kill every single Bloodcrest in their sleep.”

The room remains quiet, uncertainty lingering in the air. But then, Talion steps forward, turning to the others. "Aye, I was fond of Alara. She was clever, fierce, and the only one who understood my jokes. But the overseer is right—she was reckless and endangered us all many times. We just didn’t see it, but he did!” He points firmly at Urvel. “Defying the Echo of Silence might be our death, but if it means stopping the Hinos from returning, then I’m with him. Xinz’r doesn’t care about us, only his artefact.”

Talion draws his sword and raises it high. “I trust my overseer. I say we follow him and kill the Bloodcrests!”

One by one, the others draw their blades, the room filling with the glint of steel reflecting the torchlight. They shout in unison, “For the overseer!”

Urvel, a small smirk of satisfaction on his lips, nods. “Then let’s plan the attack.”