Erin

The streets of Dun Cyren were eerily quiet at this hour, the cobblestones slick with the mist that seemed to perpetually cling to this cursed city. Shadows stretched long in the dim light of the crescent moon, and I melted into them like I belonged there.

The rooftops of the city offered the perfect vantage point, their uneven tiles shadowed by the dim light of flickering streetlamps. I crouched low, my weight balanced carefully to avoid dislodging the brittle shingles beneath me. From here, I could see everything: the guards, their lazy pacing, the stretch of the high iron gate below, and the narrow alleys that spiderwebbed through the wealthy district.

A sharp gust of wind tugged at my hood, carrying with it the faint scent of smoke and damp stone. I adjusted the fabric, keeping my face hidden as I pressed my back against the cold chimneyside. My crossbow rested easily against my thigh, the bolt already loaded, though I doubted I’d need it. Not yet, at least.

Two guards patrolled the courtyard beneath me, their torches sputtering as they paused to exchange idle chatter. Their movements were predictable—almost insultingly so. A few more paces to the left, a pause, then a sharp turn back toward the gate. Over and over again. I couldn’t decide whether their laziness was a gift or an affront to my craft. Either way, it made things easier.

Come on. Turn already.

I counted the seconds under my breath, tracking the rhythm of their steps. Timing was everything. One wrong move, and they’d sound the alarm, trapping me in a deadly maze of nobles’ homes and endless reinforcements. My fingers flexed impatiently against the strap of my satchel, the weight of Wraithcaller reassuring at my hip.

Finally, one guard let out a low laugh at something his companion had said and turned his back to me. The other followed suit, both of them distracted as they meandered toward the far end of the courtyard. This was my moment.

Without hesitation, I swung my legs over the edge of the roof and dropped silently to the cobblestones below, rolling to absorb the impact. The movement was fluid, practiced. The kind of thing that would’ve impressed Caleb—if he were here, which he wasn’t, because unlike him, I could work solo without leaving a trail of chaos behind.

The gate loomed ahead, its bars slick with condensation. I stayed low, darting from shadow to shadow, the leather of my boots muffling every step. The guards’ laughter echoed faintly behind me, a steady reminder of their obliviousness. Good.

In a few smooth strides, I reached the gate. The lock was old, the kind that looked intimidating but had long since lost its bite. I pulled out a slim pick and set to work, my hands moving with the ease of years of practice. It took less than ten seconds to feel the telltale click.

I slipped through the gate just as the guards turned back toward my side of the courtyard. The door swung closed behind me with the faintest of creaks, and I flattened myself against the wall, holding my breath.

The torchlight flickered closer, spilling golden halos across the cobblestones. One guard muttered something I couldn’t catch, his voice gruff and irritable, but they didn’t pause. Another moment, and their footsteps faded away again.

Let’s see how far I can push my luck tonight.

The mark was simple: a ledger containing troop movements, hidden inside the lavish estate of a loyalist merchant who had been selling secrets to Alaric’s regime. What wasn’t simple? Getting past the guards, locked doors, and any surprises they might have waiting inside.

The merchant’s house loomed ahead, a gaudy display of wealth with its towering arches and gilded windows. It was disgusting, really—people starving in the streets while this pompous bastard drank imported wine and slept on silk sheets. The thought added a little more spring to my step as I crept toward the back entrance.

Inside, the house was stiflingly quiet, the kind of silence that made you feel every breath, every footstep, every heartbeat. I drew my crossbow, already loaded, and scanned the room as I moved through it. The opulence here was overwhelming: polished floors, ornate rugs, gold-framed paintings on every wall. Alaric’s loyalists always did have a knack for excess.

The study was on the second floor, according to Marcus’s informant. I ascended the staircase, careful to avoid the creaky boards, and froze halfway up when I heard voices drifting from a nearby room.

"…paying me to keep it safe, but if they find out—"

"They won’t. You just keep your mouth shut and your ledger locked, and we’ll both live to see another payday.”

The voices faded as footsteps retreated, and I continued my climb. A locked ledger, huh? Cute.

The first guard patrolling the hallway didn’t even have time to scream.

Wraithcaller hummed in my hand, its dark steel rippling with faint tendrils of smoke as I stepped out of the shadowed corner. My blade found his throat in one swift, soundless motion. He slumped to the floor, his eyes wide with the realization he’d been bested before he even saw me.

I didn’t spare him another glance. The ledger was upstairs, waiting. I moved like water, flowing through the dark halls, each step deliberate, each breath controlled. I wasn’t just in the shadows—I was the shadows.

Another guard rounded the corner, his lantern casting long, flickering shapes on the walls. He spotted me instantly, his face twisting into a snarl as he drew his blade. "You’re not supposed to be here," he growled, advancing.

"Neither are you," I quipped, the words barely above a murmur. Wraithcaller rippled in my hand, and a familiar tug deep in my chest pulled me forward.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

I let it take me.

The world slowed, dimmed. The air felt heavy and thick, like wading through a river. My body dissolved, shifting into smoke and shadow, slipping through the cracks between the light. For a moment, there was nothing but silence, weightlessness, and the faint hum of the blade in my hand.

The magic was instinctive now, second nature. But I’d never forgotten the first time I’d used it. The first time, I’d thought I was dying. Now, I embraced it.

When I reappeared, it was behind the guard.

He whirled, his sword raised, but I was faster. Wraithcaller struck, slicing clean through his hamstring. He crumpled to the ground with a howl of pain. "What the—?" he gasped, clutching at his leg.

"Shhh," I said, pressing the tip of my blade against his chest. "Die quietly, will you?"

Before he could answer, I plunged Wraithcaller into his heart. He spasmed once, then went still, the smoke curling from my blade like an exhale of satisfaction.

The study was in sight now, its gilded door a garish contrast to the grim stone walls of the house. The locked door was no challenge for a girl who had spent her formative years evading her parents’ watchful eyes and picking locks to raid their wine cellar. The lock clicked open, and I slipped inside, closing the door softly behind me.

The room smelled of ink and old parchment, the air heavy with the musk of forgotten knowledge. The ledger was easy to spot, sitting on the desk like it owned the place. I reached for it, but a sound behind me made me freeze.

"Not so fast."

The voice was gruff, and when I turned, I saw a guard standing in the doorway, sword drawn. He grinned, his teeth yellow in the dim light. "Thought you could just waltz in here and take it?”

I sighed, drawing Wraithcaller. Smoke curled faintly from its blade, a promise of what was to come. "You’re going to regret that smirk.”

He lunged, but he was slow—sloppy. I sidestepped easily, letting the blade skim past me, and brought Wraithcaller up in a sharp arc. The clash of steel echoed through the room as I parried his strikes, my movements fluid and precise. He swung again, but I was already ducking under his blade, slipping inside his guard and driving the hilt of my sword into his gut.

The air rushed out of him in a wheeze, and I brought my dagger up to his throat. "Nighty night," I quipped before delivering a swift blow to knock him unconscious. He crumpled to the floor like a sack of grain.

I grabbed the ledger, flipping through its pages just long enough to confirm it was what I needed. As I turned to leave, more footsteps sounded from the hall.

I spun on my heel, crossbow raised. A young recruit stood there, barely old enough to hold his sword properly. His wide eyes locked on me, and his grip trembled.

"Kid," I said, lowering my weapon slightly. "You’re adorable, but this isn’t your fight. Go home. Read a book. Knit a scarf. Literally anything but this."

He took a shaky step forward, his sword clanging against the doorframe. "I-I can’t—"

I cut him off, rolling my eyes. "You really want to die for some merchant who doesn’t even know your name? Trust me, kid, you’re not getting a promotion for this."

His hesitation was all I needed. I darted forward, knocking the sword from his hand with a flick of my dagger and spinning him around to face the hallway. "Go," I hissed, giving him a shove. "Tell your friends this isn’t worth it."

He stumbled, tripping over his own feet as he bolted. I shook my head, smirking. "They really don’t make guards like they used to."

Past him, two more guards barreled in, crossbows raised.

"Really?" I muttered, diving behind the desk as bolts embedded themselves in the wood. I fired my own crossbow over the edge, catching one guard in the shoulder. He yelped and dropped his weapon, clutching the wound.

The second guard rushed me, but I met him halfway, spinning low and sweeping his legs out from under him. He hit the ground with a grunt, and I brought my dagger to his neck. "Thanks for the fun," I said, before slamming the pommel of my blade into his temple.

The first guard had enough sense to limp away, shouting for reinforcements as I sprinted down the hall.

I didn’t stop. I vaulted over the banister, landing in a crouch on the first floor.

The ledger was safely tucked away in my satchel, and every guard between me and freedom was either unconscious, nursing injuries, or deeply regretting their career choices. I adjusted my hood, tugging it low over my face as I moved through the dimly lit halls of the estate.

The dining room opened up before me, a sprawling space filled with the clinking of glasses and the soft murmur of voices. A group of women lounged on the velvet sofas, their laughter tinkling like wind chimes as they gossiped over half-empty wine glasses and plates of delicate candied treats. Their jewels caught the candlelight, casting tiny rainbows on the walls.

As I entered the dining room, their voices floated toward me, lilting and giddy with scandal.

"Did you hear about Lady Anselma's daughter?" one of the women asked, her glass of wine poised mid-air. She leaned in conspiratorially, her jeweled earrings catching the flickering candlelight. "Ran off with some stable boy. Can you imagine? A stable boy!"

Another woman gasped, clutching her pearls dramatically. "Anselma must be beside herself! The shame! Oh, she always did let that girl run wild."

The third woman sniffed, swirling her wine in its crystal glass. "Stable boy, mercenary—what’s the difference? None of them have proper titles." She shot a pointed look at the second woman. "Reminds me of your cousin’s little indiscretion, doesn’t it?"

The second woman turned scarlet. "That was different! She was charmed! And besides, he wasn’t some filthy commoner—he was a knight. Of sorts."

The first woman smirked, clearly relishing the drama. "Knights can be filthy too, dear. Have you ever smelled one after battle? Honestly, I don’t know how they live with themselves."

"Evening, ladies," I said smoothly, offering a polite nod as I continued past them.

I sauntered closer to the table, my hood pulled low, but not so low that I couldn’t shoot them a sly grin. Their laughter faltered as they noticed me, the conversation dying mid-scandal.

"Don’t stop on my account," I said, snatching a piece of candied fruit from the table. "Sounds juicy."

Their mouths fell open in unison, the socialite trifecta frozen in stunned silence. I could practically see their minds whirring, trying to place me in their meticulously curated social web. When no connection was forthcoming, they settled into confused, wary stares.

"You’re... not one of Lord Fenric’s guests, are you?" the first woman asked hesitantly, her voice trailing off.

"Not exactly," I replied, popping the candied fruit into my mouth and savoring the burst of sweetness. "But I’m enjoying the hospitality."

"Who are you?" the second woman demanded, her voice shrill. "How dare you—"

"Oh, don’t worry about it. I’m just passing through."

The third woman clutched her wine glass tighter, her eyes narrowing. "This is highly irregular—”

I cut her off with a wink and reached for the golden candle holder on the side table. "Love the decor. Really ties the room together." I picked it up and slipped it into my satchel, its weight barely noticeable among my other spoils.

"Anyway, enjoy your gossip, ladies. And that wine—it’s almost as sweet as the secrets you’re spilling."

A fat orange cat lounged on the back of a nearby sofa, its tail flicking lazily. I stopped, reaching out to scratch behind its ears. "Hey, champ. You don’t mind if I crash your little soirée, do you?" The cat purred, leaning into my hand.

The women just stared, their expressions a mix of shock and confusion, as though their brains were struggling to process the absolute gall of the scene unfolding before them.

The cool night air greeted me like an old friend as I stepped outside. The ledger was mine, I’d gotten a snack, and I’d even made a new furry friend. A perfect evening, really.

"Catch me if you can, Alaric," I muttered to myself, disappearing into the shadows of Dun Cyren.