The guild walls seemed narrower, more oppressive, the bars closing in on him. Kiaran moved down the corridors feeling the weight of stares and whispers echoing in his wake. One could almost feel the mistrust woven through the air: a thick, dark fog of rumors and fears swirling around him, pulling in friends to silence and enemies into preparation. Only if he were to survive, could he ever be so vigilant in watching and suspecting all.

News came quietly, in a hasty whisper. Eira had arrived late that evening, her cloak drawn close, as if to protect herself from more than cold alone. Her gaze swept the room before she spoke, and she barely whispered. "Kiaran. they are moving against you. Plotting in dark corners, and I fear it won't long remain there."

Kiaran drew a measured breath, his eyes narrowing. "Who?

"Lysander's faction, largely. But others are beginning to question your loyalty, your… restraint." She hesitated, searching his face. "They fear the relic grants you too much power, that you have outgrown the guild's control."

Kiaran's lips twisted into a bitter smile. "So?" He turned away, his mind already spinning out plans. He would need to be subtle, deliberate. These fools had no idea what forces they were playing with. Yet as his gaze came back to Eira, he saw something there, some flicker of hesitation, or perhaps even guilt?

"Eira," he said softly, "is there something you're not telling me?

Her gaze sank, obscured by secrets. "Not now, Kiaran. But… be careful who you trust. Even those closest to you."

These words cut deep, keened like a dagger. He wanted to believe Eira, but in this world, every soul had the knife at his back, waiting for the moment to strike, should one glance away.

Kiaran entered the dim hall where Lysander and a few of the guild leaders congregated. The summons had come as a surprise, but not an entirely unwelcome one. They would attempt to draw him into a fight, challenge his will and his allegiance. He cast his gaze around the room, their faces reflecting polite interest, but a grudge settled beneath the surface. Each was a player in a game, one that Kiaran knew better than any of them.

Lysander, standing at the front of the gathering, gave him a weak smile, not really reaching his eyes. "Kiaran," he began, voice steady but laced with caution, "we've been discussing. concerns regarding your growing power."

Kiaran's eyebrow shot up, unruffled. "My power has kept us alive in battle. It is why they are feared and respected."

"True," Lysander agreed. "But the relic… it's a different matter. Power unchecked is dangerous, and if you were ever to… lose control… " His words trailed off, leaving an implication that hung in the air like a storm cloud.

Kiaran met Lysander's gaze head-on, a quiet fury simmering beneath his calm facade. "Is that what this is about? Control?"

Whispers began to spread through the group. A scarred faced guild warrior stood up, his voice a little raw. "It's not just control. There are stories out of the guild. People talking about your 'unstable' nature. That your ambition could make you a liability. We must decide, if we can still trust you."

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The room grew silent. Kiaran's eyes swept over them, assessing, calculating. "So now, you're questioning my loyalty? My restraint?"

Lysander raised his hands in mock surrender. "It has nothing to do with that, Kiaran. It's for the guild's safety."

Kiaran scoffed, voice cold. "If it were for safety, you'd be questioning those who seek to undermine us and not the ones who defend it."

The session continues, but Kiaran hardly paid much heed to what they said. In his head, he was already working, plotting, and seeing right through their shallow attempts at caging him. By the time the gathering ended, he felt only one thing: resolve. They all would regret challenging him.

Then, speaking not a word, Kiaran disappeared into the darkness to confer with Ronan Blackwood, that scoundrel of an ally who had offered his assistance for a price. They barely spoke, as they had both masked their faces in the shadows cast by the dim light of the alleyway.

There's more to this, isn't there?" Ronan said, his voice low, almost conspiratorial. "Lysander's not acting alone, I can tell you that much. He's getting outside help. Someone wants you out, and they're willing to pay a high price for it."

Kiaran's gaze darkened. "Who?

Ronan shook his head. "I can't be certain, but I'll learn. Meanwhile, you might want to start looking into your inner circle. I heard Lysander was receiving information from someone close to you-and it came from one of your trusted members."

The words were like a slap in the face for Kiaran. His mind immediately snapped to his closest allies, even Eira. But he kept the distrust down at least for the moment. He had to know himself.

"That's alright," Kiaran said gruffly, his voice little more than a whisper. "Keep your ears open. I have to know who's backing this."

He spent the next few days weaving together a subtle trap, feeding small pieces of fabricated information to some and not to others, watching, waiting. If one of those secrets leaked back to Lysander, he'd know exactly whom to blame. The betrayal hurt him; it pressed against his chest like a weight. In this world, trust was as fragile as glass; once broken, it could never be mended.

And finally, he had caught the traitor.

The man was one of his closest allies, a man who had fought alongside him through countless wars. The man had traded Kiaran's secrets for access to power and wealth and favours with Lysander's faction. When Kiaran stood over him that dead night, the man's face went pale, his voice shaking as he uttered stammering excuses.

"I… I had no choice, Kiaran. They forced my hand."

Kiaran's face was a mask of cold indifference. "You have always had a choice. You simply chose to betray me."

He fell to his knees, begging for mercy; Kiaran's heart didn't stir. In this world, betrayal spoke of retribution. With one swift motion, Kiaran ended it. His body lay in the shadows of the alley.

That night when Kiaran returned to his quarters, Eira was sitting there waiting for him. Her eyes opened wide at the cold haunted look on his face, faint blood still drying on his hands.

"Kiaran what happened?" she asked, trembling over her voice.

"A traitor," he said curtly. "Someone I thought I could trust."

And then her face fell, shadows pooling in her gaze. "It's starting to change you, isn't it?" she said, her voice soft. "This. power, this vengeance. You're becoming someone else."

Kiaran's jaw flexed. "I'm becoming who I need to be."

Eira's hand reached out, fingers brushing his cheek. "But at what cost?" she said, a sadness etched into her voice. "If you become just like them. then what was it all for?

He looked at her and softened his eyes for one instant. Words seemed to be nothing; they were hollow. Turning away, he departed, leaving her standing there, her face carved in sorrow and fear.

As he stepped into the darkness of the guild halls, Kiaran's resolve hardened. He could no longer afford to indulge in the weakness that was trust, the vulnerability that he now could not allow himself. This path he would walk in single purpose, driven in shadows, and by a fire no one could extinguish.

The guild wanted him shackled, tamed, crushed. But they would soon find that he was a storm they couldn't hold or survive. And if anyone tried to oppose him again, they would find out the true cost of treachery.