Linus moved through the quiet streets of Thornfield, the key and map secured within his cloak. His destination was the guild master's home, now a scene of murder and chaos.

He cloaked himself further in shadows, his form melting into the night as he approached the guild master’s home. Sticking close to the walls, Linus scanned the guards stationed around the perimeter. It was immediately clear to him that they hadn’t discovered the guild master’s death yet. He smirked, pitying the guild master for having such woefully inattentive guards.

Moving swiftly and silently, Linus slipped around to the back entrance. The door was locked, but Linus merely exhaled, stretching his fingers toward the shadows curling at his feet. The shadows slithered forward, their tendrils creeping into the keyhole with eerie precision. He closed his eyes, feeling them probe the intricate mechanism, teasing each pin into place. A faint metallic click echoed in the silence. The lock surrendered. Linus smirked as the door eased open on silent hinges, the darkness swallowing him whole as he stepped inside.

He entered cautiously to avoid even the slightest creak of the floorboards. The house was silent, only the faint glow of embers from the dying fire casting a dim light across the main room. Linus paused, tuning his ears to every subtle sound, but he heard nothing to indicate anyone else was inside.

Advancing toward the study, Linus’s eyes adjusted to the darkness as he approached the scene with meticulous precision. His gaze darted over the room, his attention drawn to a desk cluttered with scattered notes, ink-stained quills, and a toppled inkwell leaking black rivulets across a half-written letter. His fingers brushed over the rough paper, each word a whisper of the secrets the guild master had guarded. Then he saw it—a wax-sealed letter with a sigil he did not recognize. His pulse quickened.

"The arrangements are made. Ensure the delivery is secured, and you will have your payment."

Linus’s mind raced as he weighed the implications. Whatever the guild master had been orchestrating, it had required discretion, and now the timing of his murder took on a new significance.

Linus pocketed the letter, noting that he’d need more time to decipher its full meaning later. As he continued sifting through the scattered papers, he uncovered a small leather-bound notebook tucked beneath a pile of loose documents. The notebook's entries were written in a cryptic, hurried script, the hallmarks of a cipher he couldn't unravel immediately. Yet, the promise of hidden messages within was undeniable. Slipping the notebook into his coat pocket, he made sure everything else appeared undisturbed, his movements leaving no evidence of his presence.

Satisfied, he retrieved a small pouch from his cloak—items taken from the Sorenputhra spies. Each item was a puzzle piece, carefully curated to tell a fabricated story. A thin dagger, its hilt wrapped in foreign silk, found its place under the bookcase—an assassin’s careless mistake. A worn parchment, covered in cryptic symbols, slid beneath a stack of documents, just enough to spark curiosity. Finally, a single gold coin, its face etched with the sigil of Sorenputhra, was placed near the fireplace as if discarded in haste. Linus stepped back, surveying his work. Anyone who walked into this room would see what he wanted them to see. The perfect illusion.

Taking a final look around, Linus ensured every hint of his intrusion had been erased. His shadow magic cloaked him fully as he slipped out of the guild master’s home, silent and undetected. The cool night air greeted him as he merged back into the shadows, making his way through the quiet streets toward his manor. His mind buzzed with the implications of his findings, the possibilities they held, and the intricate paths ahead.

As Linus walked through the quiet streets, his mind raced, each step carrying him closer to his plan's culmination. The guild master’s body, paired with the carefully planted evidence, would inevitably stir up a storm of suspicion toward the Sorenputhra spies, creating just the diversion he needed to decipher the map and unlock the Phoenix Blade’s secrets.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Upon reaching the city’s outskirts, Linus ensured he was alone before stopping in a secluded clearing. Moonlight filtered through the trees, casting ethereal shadows across the ground. He took out the two halves of the map and held them together.

Linus held his breath as he brought the two halves together. The moment the torn edges aligned, a golden pulse rippled through the parchment, the seams knitting together as if time was reversing. A spectral light crawled across the surface, etching intricate paths and shifting symbols. The once-ordinary map now breathed, its veins aglow with an otherworldly radiance. Linus’s grip tightened as the lines twisted, converging toward a single destination—underground. The Phoenix Blade’s resting place lay beneath the earth, lost within a labyrinth. Then, as if stirred by unseen hands, words scrawled themselves in burning ink across the parchment.

Suddenly, words in ancient script appeared, inscribed across the map in glowing light. Linus read the verse aloud, his voice a hushed murmur under the starlit sky:

"When an unchanneled light mage opens the cave of Ashenfire on the night of the Blood Moon, he shall wield the power that will bring tears of blood to this world."

Linus’s heart quickened as the full impact of the prophecy settled over him. The Blood Moon was tomorrow. This discovery shifted his plans, compressing his carefully constructed timeline into a single, urgent night.

He withdrew the Phoenix’s Heart gem from his pocket, examining it closely in the moonlight. It was a magnificent artifact, radiating an inner glow, yet it remained still in his hands, showing no signs of magical resonance. No energy, no reaction. It lay inert, an enigma waiting for the right touch. Frustration simmered in his chest. All the pieces—the map, the gem, the prophecy—they led to an unfathomable power, yet it seemed he was blocked at every turn.

Pacing in the moonlit clearing, Linus clenched his fists, muttering. “The Blood Moon... It’s tomorrow night. If the gem doesn’t respond, then…” His voice trailed off, but he knew the answer. He’d have to wait four more years for another Phoenix year. The thought filled him with a fierce, seething anger. All the risk, all the patience, and he might end up empty-handed.

He looked down at the gem, the moonlight casting a cold glint on its surface. “Tomorrow,” he whispered as though willing the stone itself to hear. “Tomorrow, you’ll reveal your secrets. One way or another.”

Linus took a deep breath, steadying himself against the anticipation gnawing at his focus. The pressures of the impending Blood Moon and the mysteries surrounding the Phoenix’s Heart were beginning to fray his patience. He needed a distraction, a way to refocus his mind and clear the tension weighing on him.

Eliza.

The memory of her, vulnerable and pliant, stirred something within Linus. He had to see her. She was the perfect outlet, a blend of docility and beauty, satisfying his darker cravings while keeping her just under his thumb. A smirk ghosted his lips. By now, the manor was his domain. None would stop him. None would dare. And Eliza—sweet, delicate Eliza—would give him the release he craved.

Linus quickened his pace, anticipation coiling like a serpent in his gut. His mind drifted to her—the way her body had trembled beneath him last time, stretched out on silken sheets in a bed that was never meant for him. The memory was intoxicating. The scent of her skin, the way she had gasped against his lips, torn between resistance and surrender, in her husband's room. The thought alone sent a thrill through him, reigniting the hunger that had barely been sated. She was waiting—warm, helpless, his to take.

By now, nearly all the servants were his people, their loyalty—or fear—ensuring his movements went unnoticed. Linus reached her door, his fingers grazing the handle before he paused. He listened. The silence inside was thick, broken only by the faint rustle of fabric as she shifted in sleep. Slowly, he pressed the door open, the hinges whispering their protest. Moonlight draped the room in pale ribbons, casting soft shadows across the bed where Eliza lay. Her hair spilled over the pillow, loose curls framing her face in a tangle of moonlit gold. Her breath's slow, steady rise and fall stirred something deep within him. Linus lingered on the threshold, watching, waiting—savoring the fragile hush before he shattered it.

There was something captivating in the peaceful vulnerability of her form, framed by the dim light.

As he neared the bed, Eliza stirred, her eyelids fluttering open. Confusion crossed her face as she took in the shadowy figure looming over her. A gasp escaped her lips, and her body tensed as if to scream. Swiftly, Linus placed a hand over her mouth, leaning close.

"It's me, Eliza," he whispered, his voice smooth and reassuring though edged with an unmistakable intensity.

Her rapid breathing slowed slightly, though her wide eyes remained filled with alarm and a faint relief. Beneath his hand, he could feel her heart racing, the pulse rapid under her skin. Linus leaned in, his voice low, almost a murmur. "It’s been a frustrating day," he said, each word measured. "I need... a distraction."