Soren’s boots sank into the damp earth as he and Alaric followed Raz deeper into the forest. The canopy blotted out the sky, plunging them into twilight.

“Today, you’ll learn to disappear,” Raz said. “It’s not enough to complete your contract. You need to vanish afterward—leave no trace that you were ever there. If they find a footprint, a strand of hair, even a disturbed branch, you’ve failed.”

Soren nodded. This wasn’t just about moving quietly—it was about erasing oneself completely.

“The exercise is simple.” Raz gestured beyond the clearing. “Follow me. Stay close, but not too close. Watch and learn.”

Without another word, Raz melted into the trees.

Soren took a deep breath, trying to centre himself before following. He glanced at Alaric, then stepped forward.

Soren tried to mimic Raz’s fluid movements, to distribute his weight evenly as he’d been taught, but it felt unnatural, forced.

Every leaf, every twig, became a noisy obstacle.

Ahead, Raz appeared and disappeared, always just out of reach.

Even knowing where to look, Soren could barely track Raz’s progress through the undergrowth. He left no disturbed foliage, no bent branches to mark his passage. It was as if the forest itself conspired to hide him.

“He’s a ghost,” Alaric said.

“I think he’s letting us see just enough to follow.”

“Damn.” Alaric blew out a breath. “I think you’re right.”

The realisation of just how deadly Raz could be—how deadly they were being trained to be—hit Soren hard.

“Watch your weight when you walk,” Raz said. “Step on the edges of your feet. Distribute your balance evenly. Don’t let your heel dig into the ground.”

Soren adjusted his stance, focusing on the points of contact between his feet and the forest floor. He found the lighter touch improved his balance, allowing him to move more smoothly over the uneven terrain.

A loud crack shattered the silence, followed by a muffled curse from Alaric.

Soren turned to see him frozen mid-step.

“You’re thinking too much,” Raz said. “The moment you hesitate, you make noise. Stop trying to fight the forest. Move with it, not against it.”

Alaric nodded, his jaw clenched.

Soren wanted to offer some words of encouragement, but any sound now would undermine the lesson.

As they pressed on, Soren found himself falling into a rhythm. He began to see the forest not as an obstacle to be overcome, but as a material to work with. Each step became a negotiation with the earth, each movement a conversation with the shadows.

The similarity to his sculpting work struck him. This, too, was an art form. Instead of coaxing form from stone, he was shaping absence, carving out a space of stillness in the living, breathing forest.

“Blending in isn’t about being invisible,” Raz said. “It’s about becoming part of the environment. Don’t just hide. Become the shadow. Become the silence.”

Soren pressed himself against the rough bark of a massive oak, feeling its ancient stillness seep into him. He regulated his breathing, willing his heartbeat to slow, to match the patient pulse of the forest around him. For a moment, he felt it—a perfect unity with his surroundings, with Creation herself.

Raz materialised before him. “There’s more to this than just walking softly. You’re not just hiding from enemies. You’re hiding from the world itself. When you disappear, you become nothing—and nothing is the hardest thing to catch.”

Raz turned and vanished into the shadows, leaving Soren and Alaric alone in the clearing.

Soren stared after him, a deep furrow settling on his brow.

How had they ever managed to track Raz down?

The implications sent a shiver through Soren.

Had Raz wanted to be found?

Had their entire journey to the Guild been orchestrated from the start?

Soren glanced at Alaric, wondering if similar doubts plagued his friend.

But now wasn’t the time to voice his suspicions.

Minutes stretched into what felt like hours as Soren and Alaric waited in the clearing. The forest seemed to mock them with its silence, holding its secrets close.

"He could be anywhere by now," Alaric said, running a hand through his hair. "Did you see which way he went?"

Soren shook his head. "I lost him when he passed that fallen oak." He gestured toward a trunk carpeted in moss. "After that…" He spread his hands.

They searched the area in widening circles, looking for any trace of their mentor's passage. Soren examined every twig, every patch of disturbed earth, drawing on everything they'd just learned about tracking. But Raz had truly become nothing, just as he'd taught them.

"This is useless," Alaric said after their third sweep. He looked up at the dense canopy, squinting. "Maybe from higher up…"

Before Soren could protest, Alaric was scaling the nearest tree, his movements quick and precise. The branches swayed under his weight as he climbed higher, disappearing into the leafy darkness above.

Soren waited, studying the ground near the tree's base. Even Alaric's ascent had barely disturbed the forest floor—he was learning, at least.

A few minutes later, Alaric dropped down beside him.

He shook his head. "Nothing. Just trees and more trees in every direction." He brushed bits of bark from his hands. "We should head back to the Guild."

Soren wanted to object, to keep searching, but he knew Alaric was right. The lesson wasn't about finding Raz—it was about understanding just how completely someone could vanish when they truly knew how.

"Yeah. Let's go."

As they made their way back, Soren found himself moving more carefully than before, conscious of every step. He thought of Raz's words about becoming nothing, about hiding from the world itself.

On their return to the Guild, Raz met Soren and Alaric in the entrance lobby.

“Come.” Raz led them to a training room deep within the Guild’s halls.

He stopped in the room’s centre, his scarred face cast in shadow. “Now, we focus on the most essential tool of our trade.” With a fluid motion, he produced a dagger forged from ravenglass, its form so smooth it seemed to bend the scant light around it.

Soren found his eyes drawn to it, drawn to its impossible darkness.

“The dagger is the weapon of choice for contractors. It’s small, quick, and intimate. A tool for close quarters, where there’s no room for error.”

The dagger in Raz’s hand wasn’t just a weapon—it was an extension of the assassin’s will, a physical manifestation of deadly intent.

Raz held the dagger out for inspection. “This is my ravenglass dagger. Only those worthy will ever wield one. But until then, you train with something simpler.” With his other hand, Raz produced a pair of steel daggers. “All your training—fighting, anatomy, stealth—it leads to one moment. The completion. The kill. This is where it all comes together.”

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Raz demonstrated the proper grip: firm, yet flexible, his wrist relaxed but ready to strike at any moment. “Hold it like this. Not too tight, or you’ll lose the fluidity of your movement. But not too loose, or it’ll slip when you strike.”

Raz stepped towards Soren first, placing the steel dagger’s hilt in his hand. “Like this.” His touch was precise as he adjusted Soren’s grip. “A dagger isn’t a sword. It doesn’t need wide, sweeping motions. It needs precision. Accuracy.” He looked between Soren and Alaric. “When you strike, you aim for completion—not a show of force, but a whisper of death.”

As Soren felt the weight of the dagger, something clicked in his mind. The balance, the control required—it wasn’t so different from his sculpting tools.

Soren’s movement became more fluid as he followed Raz’s instructions.

“The human body is your medium now, Soren. Learn its weaknesses, its vulnerabilities, just as you learned the grain of the stone.”

Soren nodded. This was about control, precision, and understanding the fragility of the human body, just as he understood the fragility of marble.

Raz led them through a series of strikes, showing them how to target weak points on the training dummy—the neck, the kidneys, the heart. “Stealth doesn’t end when you approach your target. It ends when they die without ever knowing you were there.”

As Soren practiced the movements, he found himself falling into a familiar state of focused concentration. The world narrowed to the blade in his hand, the imaginary targets before him.

A muffled sound broke his concentration. Soren glanced over to see Alaric struggling with the exercises, his movements jerky.

Raz noticed too, his eyes narrowing. “You can’t hesitate. The moment you do, your enemy will exploit it, and you’ll be the one lying dead. You must commit to the contract. Commit to your role.”

Alaric nodded, his jaw clenched tight. He raised the dagger again, trying to mimic the brutal neck strike Raz had demonstrated. But halfway through the motion, he stumbled back, the dagger clattering to the floor. He bent double, retching violently.

Soren took a step towards him, but Raz’s outstretched arm stopped him.

“Let him work through it.”

Alaric straightened, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He bent down, retrieving the fallen dagger. “I’m not giving up. I’ll do it, even if I hate every second of it.” He met Raz’s gaze, refusing to look away.

Raz studied him for a long moment. “Good. You don’t have to like it. You just have to commit.”

Alaric dipped his head. “I know…I will.”

“Now, let’s focus on the final stroke. The key is to strike swiftly and decisively. No hesitation, no half-measures.” He demonstrated a series of quick movements. “The jugular, here. A single, precise cut, and your target bleeds out in seconds. Or here.” He indicated a spot just below the ribs. “Angled upward, your blade finds the heart. Death is nearly instantaneous.”

Soren found himself mimicking the motions, his body moving through the forms, striking the dummy with a grace that surprised him.

“Good, Soren. The dagger is an extension of your will. Don’t think about the strike—simply act, commit.”

As the lesson progressed, Raz showed them how to use the dagger in conjunction with other skills they’d learned—how to approach silently, strike from the shadows, and vanish without a trace.

“Remember, the dagger is just a tool. Your true weapon is your mind. You must be able to read a situation in an instant, to know exactly where to strike and how to escape. Every contract is a puzzle, and the dagger is just one piece of the solution.”

Soren nodded. He could see how all their training was coming together—the stealth, the combat skills, the knowledge of anatomy and human behaviour.

It was all leading to this—the perfect, silent kill.

As he continued the drills, each movement became more precise, more controlled. He barely noticed the ache in his muscles, the sweat dripping down his back.

His hand moved with newfound confidence. For the first time since joining the Guild, Soren felt like he was truly on the path to mastering the assassin’s art.

Beside him, Alaric’s movements were steady, his face a mask of concentration. But Soren sensed the tension in his shoulders, the slight tremor in his hands as he mimed lethal strikes.

Raz prowled around them, his eyes sharp and assessing. “Every strike must be as precise as a chisel on stone. Commit to it. Do not fail. Commit.”

As the lesson drew to a close, Soren stood still for a moment, his breathing steady, his mind calm. The chaotic thoughts and moral qualms that had plagued him seemed distant now, replaced by a sense of purpose and clarity.

Raz regarded them both. “You’ve made progress. But remember, this is just the beginning. The true test comes when you face a living, breathing target.”

Soren was ready. He accepted what the Guild needed him to be, what he needed to become.

As they prepared to leave the chamber, Raz raised a hand. “Soren, a moment.”

Alaric hesitated at the door, but Soren nodded for him to go ahead. As the door closed behind him, Soren turned to face Raz, standing straight and meeting his instructor’s gaze.

“You’ve taken to this quicker than most, It’s impressive.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Raz’s lips twitched in what might have been a smile. “Don’t thank me yet. The path you’re on is not an easy one. The skills you’re learning, the person you’re becoming—it will change you in ways you can’t yet imagine.”

“I understand.”

“Good. Because soon, very soon, you’ll be put to the test. And I expect you to excel. I expect you to commit.”

Soren dipped his head. “I will.”

Raz clapped a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “I know you will.”

Soren paced back and forth as Alaric sat on the edge of his bed.

Soren had been quiet since their training session, lost in thought. The weight of unspoken words hung between them.

He stopped mid-step. “There’s something wrong.”

Alaric chuckled. “You mean besides everything in this cursed Guild?”

“It doesn’t make sense.”

“What do you mean.”

Soren met his eyes. “Raz. How easily we tracked him down after…after my father..”

Alaric nodded. “It wasn’t that easy.”

“No. He’s a master of stealth. We shouldn’t have been able to track him like we did. It’s like…I don’t know. Like he wanted to be found..”

Alaric raised an eyebrow. “You’re overthinking it, Sor. We got lucky, that’s all it was.”

“Lucky?” Soren moved closer. “You really think that? Raz knows how to disappear. We’ve seen it first-hand. He’s practically a ghost, and we were just two kids from Nebel Hafen. How could we have found him…unless he let us?”

Alaric stood up, shaking his head. “You’re being paranoid. You’re seeing patterns where there aren’t any. Why would Raz, or anyone in the Guild, care about a couple of nobodies from a fishing town?”

“I don’t know why.” Soren clenched his fists. “But I’m going to find out. I’m going to confront Raz.”

Alaric’s eyes widened. “Are you completely mad? He’ll cut your throat before you finish your sentence. You don’t just demand answers from a man like Raz.” He moved to block Soren’s path. “You’ve been thinking too much since you found that book.”

Soren tried to push past him, but Alaric stood his ground.

“But don’t you see? None of this adds up. Why are we here? Why were we recruited so easily? What if this was planned long before we even knew it? What if my father’s death wasn’t random?”

“Soren, listen to yourself. You’re connecting dots that don’t exist. This is crazy talk.”

“Is it?” Soren’s eyes darted around as if the very walls might be listening. “What if everything we’ve done—everything that’s happened—has been orchestrated?”

Alaric threw up his hands. “You’re reaching at ghosts. I get it. Your father’s death was awful, and you’re still trying to make sense of it. But you can’t go accusing the Guild of some grand conspiracy. You’ll get yourself killed.”

“And what if I’m right? What if there’s more to all of this than we know?”

Alaric grabbed Soren’s shoulders, forcing him to meet his gaze. “Listen to me. We’re here because we had no other choice, and Raz saw something in us. That’s it. Maybe it’s not more complicated than that.”

Soren shrugged off Alaric’s grip. “But what if it is? What if we’re just…puppets?”

“Even if we are, what good does knowing that do us? We’re still trapped here. We still have to survive.”

“But at what cost? At the cost of our souls? Our humanity?”

Alaric sighed. “You’re exhausted. You’re not thinking clearly. Get some sleep, and in the morning—”

“I don’t need sleep!” Soren glowered at him. “I need answers!”

“And how do you plan to get them? By storming into Raz’s quarters and demanding the truth? He’d gut you before you could blink.”

Soren paced again, his mind racing. “There has to be a way. Maybe we could sneak into the Vault again, look for more information.”

“And risk getting caught?” Alaric shook his head. “No way. I’m not letting you do that.”

“You can’t stop me.”

“I can try.” Alaric shook his head. “You’re my friend, Soren. I’m not going to let you throw your life away on a hunch.”

“A hunch? Is that what you think this is? I’ve been piecing this together for weeks. It’s all connected.”

“Connected to what? What grand scheme could possibly involve two nobodies like us?”

“I don’t know yet. But I will find out. Even if I have to tear this place apart stone by stone.”

Alaric’s expression softened. “Sor, please. Listen to yourself. You’re talking about going up against the most dangerous people in the world. People who kill for a living. Is that really worth it?”

“If it means uncovering the truth? Yes.”

Alaric ran a hand through his hair. “And what about me, huh? Have you thought about what your little crusade might mean for me?”

Soren paused, caught off guard by the question. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that if you go down this path, you’re not just risking your own life. You’re risking mine too. We’re in this together, remember? If you fall, I fall with you.”

Soren squeezed his eyes closed. He hadn’t considered the implications for Alaric.

“Look,” Alaric said, his tone gentler. “I understand why you’re doing this. I really do. But you have to think about the consequences. Not just for you, but for both of us.”

Soren slumped onto his bed, the fight draining out of him. “I can’t just let it go. I can’t ignore the feeling that we’re being manipulated.”

Alaric sat down next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I’m not asking you to let it go. I’m just asking you to be smart about it.”

Soren nodded. “So, what do you suggest?”

“We keep our heads down. We train, we learn, we become the best damn assassins this Guild has ever seen. And all the while, we keep our eyes and ears open. We gather information, but we do it carefully. No confrontations. Just patient observation.”

“Alright. We’ll do it your way.”

Alaric sniffed. “Don’t you see—this is your way. Since when do I go for the patient observation thing.”

“You’re right. No point risking everything…yet.”

Alaric nodded, the tension evaporating from his shoulders. “Good. Now, can we please get some sleep? We’ve got training in the morning, and Raz will have our hides if we’re not at our best.”

As they prepared for bed, Soren’s mind continued to race. He lay awake long after Alaric fell asleep.

Alaric was wrong. There was a pattern there, Soren was sure of it. A hidden truth waiting to be uncovered.

He would have to wait, would have to bide his time.

But he would uncover the truth, no matter what it took.