The door exploded inwards, blasted open by his powerful telekinesis.

Aurora stood there, waiting.

Screams and cries filled the air as men and women were mercilessly cut down.

“You chased me down? Julius?” Aurora asked.

His hands trembled beside his plain shirt, no hidden weapons concealed beneath.

“I thought I left you for good…” Aurora whispered, his voice full of betrayal. “Why are you doing this…”

A little boy was hiding under the bed, peeking at them with terrified eyes. He was tucked behind crates and sacks, but Julius’ sharp eyes picked him out immediately.

Aurora looked over at the boy, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to hide him from Julius.

“At least spare him…”

Julius said nothing, his eyes emotionless as he stepped toward Aurora.

He raised his longsword, dripping with blood.

Aurora didn’t move, more somber than scared in the face of death.

“You’re not trying to run?” Julius asked.

He shook his head.

“I’m sorry…” Julius whispered as he plunged the sword into Aurora’s chest.

Aurora barely moved as blood poured from his mouth with his ragged coughs. “Why…”

“It was still grim… Grim as far as I could see…”

“So you fought against it?” Aurora asked him.

Julius nodded, averting his gaze. He didn’t have it in him to meet Aurora’s pained eyes. “It’s for the family… The family you betrayed…”

“It’s not going to work…” Aurora gasped, blood blooming like a rose on his white shirt.

Julius drew his sword back, blood spraying from the wound as Aurora collapsed to the floor. He stood over the dying Aurora, who silently stared back at him, no longer able to speak.

“I’m sorry…” he whispered.

Then he raised his sword and sliced through Aurora’s neck in a quick, painless cut.

Blood sprayed as the head rolled across the floor, the lifeless eyes fixed in a sorrowful stare.

They were once mentor and apprentice, friends, brothers even.

But that didn’t horrify Julius. He didn’t care that his oldest acquaintance lay decapitated before him.

It was something much, much worse.

“It didn’t change…” he whispered as he stood frozen. “Nothing changed…”

That future was still grim.

Grimmer than ever.

*****

Idris

“Who are you?” Sheila asked, holding his dagger inches from Thomas’. He didn’t lunge to kill, merely to test the waters. “Assassins?”

Thomas snickered. “What clued you in?”

“The way you dress, the way you talk, the way you move,” sneered Sheila. “Nobody comes this far in this fancy of a wagon in this simple of clothing without getting eaten alive by bandits. Who are you?”

“Assassins.”

“Don’t play games with me.”

“Who are you?” Thomas asked in return, pressing his dagger against Sheila’s and pushing it away.

“Who do you think?”

“Assassins?”

There are many different, smaller clans throughout the four kingdoms, some fraudulent, some elite, some well-known, and others extremely secretive. Rose, being one such secretive and elite clan, has few connections with the outside world, and so, is not familiar with most of the other assassin clans.

“Yeah,” Sheila whispered.

“We’re not here for trouble,” said Thomas, slowly lowering his dagger. He knows they aren’t the ones in control here. “We just need to find someone.”

Seeing Thomas’ compliance, Sheila lowered his dagger too, signaling for the others to put away their weapons and step away.

The small crowd around them obeyed without a word, lowering their weapons and backing up a step or two.

Idris still held his weapon at the ready, anticipating some sort of surprise attack. Saya too kept her spear in front of her, forming a boundary between her and the strangers.

“At ease, at ease,” ordered Thomas. “Lower your weapons.”

Slowly Idris sheathed his dagger but kept his hand close to it. He looked at Saya, who was still holding her spear at the ready and gave her a gentle nudge.

“Saya,” he whispered. “Put your spear away.”

She thought for a moment, before giving her spear a flaunting twirl and catching it next to her with one hand. Then she stood there like a guard, her head held high. Despite her arrogant demeanor, Idris could tell that she was still on guard.

“I’ll ask you again,” said Sheila. “What clan do you represent? There’s only one in this kingdom with this aura…”

“I must not answer that question,” Thomas replied.

“Rose, aren’t you?” Asked Sheila.

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“Does that matter?”

The crowd silenced, more than they already were. Their eyes were frozen on them, unmoving as they stared. Idris could feel fear in the air.

Sheila scrunched his nose and bit his lip. “You aren’t welcome here. Leave these mountains.”

“We can’t,” said Thomas, not backing down. “We’ll simply pass through this town if you insist, but we can’t turn back.”

Sheila and Thomas stood facing each other, neither willing to give way, both ready to once again draw their weapons.

“Sheila…” A raspy voice cut through the tension. “Let them stay…”

An old woman pushed through the crowd, her back hunched and her steps unsteady, the wooden cane in her bony hands clattering against the ground.

“Grandmother,” Sheila gasped, his voice immediately softening. “Why did you venture out of the house? It’s unsafe here.”

“Let them stay, grandson,” she rasped. “What happened here happened long ago, before either of you were born… Let them stay, they’re not here for trouble… I can tell.”

The old woman looked at Idris, her cloudy eyes seeming to find everything they were trying to hide.

“Grandmother…”Sheila tried to protest.

“I understand your concern, grandson. But they aren’t our enemies…” she croaked, before turning to address Thomas directly. “We have no inns here, but we do have stables. I’ll arrange for food and drinks to be brought to you at dinner time, and we’ll lead you up the mountains if you must… You aren’t a familiar here, venturing up the snow alone is treacherous…”

“Thank you,” said Thomas, giving her a small bow. “We’ll just stay in our wagon. However, we aren’t expecting to head far enough up to be in the snow. A guide would be unnecessary.”

“Very well,” she nodded. “Grandson, help them settle in for the night. I’m expecting you to lead them up the mountain tomorrow. I’m sure you know who they’re here to find.”

“Yes, Grandmother,” Sheila replied respectfully. Then he tucked away his dagger, rolled back his sleeve, and signaled for the others to step back, before addressing Thomas. “I apologize for the hostility. Our histories did not intertwine under happy circumstances. But, as Grandmother said, we shall dwell on it no further.”

Thomas nodded slightly. There was a certain sorrow in Sheila’s voice, one which felt sincere but guilty, and once which confused Idris greatly.

“Sarah,” Idris whispered. “Is he telling the truth?”

“Yeah…” Sarah replied.

*****

They sat in their wagon, parked in a little shed at Sheila’s house.

Despite his grandmother’s kindness, Idris still felt a little uneasy.

This town threw off a strange air of foreboding, everyone seemed to give them strange looks.

It isn’t so strange that this town is a clan of assassins, but it is strange that they have a grudge against Rose. Perhaps they don’t take kindly to other clans in general, but the atmosphere of the crowd had changed markedly when Thomas introduced himself.

“Thomas, I’ve brought dinner.”

Idris could hear Sheila’s voice outside their wagon.

“Thank you, Sheila,” Thomas replied, leaping down from the wagon and gratefully taking the basket from Sheila.

“Thank my grandmother, not me. I would have never allowed you to stay here.”

The two were silent for a moment.

“What happened here?” Thomas asked.

“Do you not know your own history?”

“Perhaps it wasn’t in my lifetime.”

Sheila grunted, but his voice seemed to soften. He is older than all of them, and whatever took place here may very well have been long before Otto, the oldest of the group, was born. “Well… We’ll have plenty of time tomorrow when we trek up the mountain.”

“I want to know, now,” Thomas insisted. “Why don’t you come inside our wagon? It’s comfortable inside, at least not freezing like the outside.”

“I refuse.”

“Please…”

Sheila thought for a moment. “Fine…”

The two stepped through the little door, Sheila's soft steps almost as quiet as Thomas'.

He really is an assassin… Idris thought to himself.

Saya stirred beside him, her hand creeping towards her spear.

“It’s okay…” Idris whispered, laying his hand on Saya’s.

Saya barely held back her little gasp.

Sheila looked around at the foreign visitors and gave them a curt nod. “It’s strange to be in front of my demons,” he mumbled as he set the candle on the floor and sat next to it.

“Your demons?”

Sheila nodded. “This town’s demons…”

Nobody spoke.

Rose has brought the Grim Reaper to thousands, yet Idris had never heard anyone call them “demons”. Everyone treats them with respect, maybe fear, but never such hate.

Whatever reasons Sheila and the other townspeople have to hate them, Idris does not have a single clue.

He doesn’t remember any contract in Elisaya from the books and records. Such a small town would not normally host the contracts Rose usually receives.

“We didn’t used to be assassins,” Sheila continued after seeing no one had words. “This town was once even smaller, the lands here not fertile enough to sustain this many.”

The town of Eliston isn’t deep in the mountains, but the climate here is cold and dry, the soil hard and barren. Crops can still grow, but not nearly as well as the richer lands down south.

It hadn’t occurred to Idris, but even though Eliston is a small town, it is far larger than any other in the mountains.

“Many many years ago, during a harsh famine, a lost assassin arrived here, seeking asylum. He was the best mage I’ve ever seen, the most powerful telepath in history. Even though we were struggling, we took him in, sheltered him, and in return, he taught us his ways,” Sheila explained. “We made money through our newfound skill and our village could finally feed itself. So we continued, expanded, and became a little town of assassins.”

“Who is this assassin you speak of?” Otto asked.

Sheila shook his head. “I don’t know where he came from. But he called himself Polaris. I know that isn’t his real name, but assassins often don’t have names.”

“I see…”

“Anyhow… We were doing good. Our town was prospering. Our way of life changed a lot, but it was all for the better. Then…”

Sheila fell silent.

“Then…?”

“Then, for reasons I still ask the heavens about, Rose found us. They… Your ancestors, attacked in the dead of night, fast as lightning. They cut down whoever stood in their path, then left before we could retaliate. They took Polaris, well, his headless body, and left our town in ruins.”

“Rose would never do such a horrid thing!” Saya argued.

“Saya,” whispered Idris, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“Idris…” Saya mumbled, looking at him with sad eyes.

“Let him speak…”

Sheila smiled. “They did. They announced themselves like warriors.”

“Why? We have no reason…”

“I don’t know,” Sheila mumbled with a shrug. “No one knows.”

The atmosphere in the wagon was icy. Thomas and Otto sat silently, thinking with their eyes down. There was no reason for them to believe Sheila, but he had no reason to lie.

Idris didn’t know what to think anymore. The last few weeks have been one revelation after another, each more terrifying than the last. The more they looked, the more convoluted things seemed to become.

What is this town? How did their histories become so tragically intertwined? And who is this strange assassin Sheila claims to be the most powerful telepath in history?

He had too many questions.

“Well, I’ll be going now,” said Sheila, getting to his feet. “Rest well, we must set out early tomorrow.”

“Yeah…” Thomas replied quietly.

Sheila left the wagon, the flickering flame of his candle dancing in the darkness for a moment before he turned the corner.

“What do we make of this?” Idris asked. A downtrodden Saya was leaning against him, hugging her knees.

Thomas shook his head. “Nothing right now… We don’t know enough…”

“We need to hurry back,” Otto spoke up suddenly. “I must speak with Julius…”

“Do you know something?” Thomas asked.

“I do…” Otto whispered, his eyes staring through nothing. “I was barely an apprentice back then… But… we’ve been here… I remember…”