The plan to observe Master Fennor began quietly, almost innocuously, as though it were any other day at the academy. Yet beneath the routine facade, I knew this wasn’t just about gathering information—it was about uncovering a truth that had eluded us for too long.

Renar, Lorian, and I convened early in the morning, sharing one last look at the plan sketched out on a piece of parchment in my dorm room. The dim light from the window made the inked lines look almost alive, as though the scheme itself carried a pulse.

“Remember,” Renar said, his tone measured, “we’re looking for patterns. Don’t focus too hard on one thing—let the anomalies reveal themselves naturally.”

Lorian smirked, tossing a dagger between her hands with practiced ease. “Anomalies are my specialty.”

I didn’t bother replying, instead folding the parchment and tucking it into my pocket. Words felt unnecessary; we each knew what was at stake.

For the next few days, I kept to a carefully calculated routine. I attended Fennor’s lectures, lingering at the back of the room where I could observe him without drawing attention. His lessons were as precise as always, filled with the kind of methodical detail that would have impressed any cadet. But there was something beneath the surface, a tautness in his demeanor that hadn’t been there before.

He often paused mid-sentence, his eyes flickering to the window or the doorway as if expecting someone to appear. When he spoke, his words were clipped, lacking the fluid confidence that usually defined him.

And then there were the notes. Fennor had always been meticulous, scribbling details onto the blackboard with an efficiency that bordered on mechanical. But now, I noticed him glancing at his own notes more often, almost nervously, as though he feared forgetting something.

When the lecture ended, I lingered, pretending to struggle with packing up my materials. From the corner of my eye, I watched Fennor organize his desk with almost obsessive precision. He checked his pocket watch twice before leaving the room.

I followed him at a distance, keeping my steps light and my pace unremarkable. He made his way to the library, where he spent an inordinate amount of time browsing the section on Valtheris military history—odd, given that his specialty was logistics, not warfare.

Renar, true to form, tackled his role with surgical precision. His task was to track Fennor’s movements outside of the lecture halls. When we met in secret during the evenings, he reported everything with the detached efficiency of a tactician.

“Fennor has been leaving the academy grounds more frequently than usual,” Renar said one night, his voice barely above a whisper. “Always the same time, right after his last lecture. He takes the side gate instead of the main entrance, probably to avoid being noticed.”

“And where does he go?” I asked.

Renar tapped his temple. “I’m working on it. He’s careful, but he can’t erase his tracks entirely.”

Lorian, meanwhile, had the most dangerous assignment—gaining access to Fennor’s private quarters. It was a task she approached with her usual blend of humor and audacity.

“His office smells like old books and stale coffee,” she reported one evening, tossing a small piece of parchment onto the table between us. “But he’s got something interesting hidden in a hollowed-out book. Didn’t have time to grab it—yet.”

The parchment bore a rough sketch of Fennor’s office, complete with notes on possible hiding spots and escape routes.

As the days passed, the pieces of the puzzle began to take shape. Fennor wasn’t just acting oddly—he was moving with a purpose, like a man with something to hide.

But what struck me most was the growing weight of it all. This wasn’t just a game of cat and mouse; it was a dance on the edge of a blade. One wrong move, and we’d tip the scales against ourselves.

For now, all we could do was watch and wait, hoping that Fennor’s mask would slip enough to reveal the truth lurking underneath.

**

The link, when we finally uncovered it, was almost too perfect—as if someone had laid it out for us to find. That thought alone put me on edge.

It began with Renar, who had spent days shadowing Fennor’s movements outside the academy. His diligence paid off when he traced Fennor to a small courier’s office tucked away in a quiet corner of Qalbargh. The place was unassuming, its weathered sign creaking in the wind, but it was precisely the kind of place someone would use for discreet communication.

“The courier was carrying a sealed package,” Renar explained during one of our late-night meetings. “Fennor handed it off himself, then waited to receive something in return—a letter.”

“What’s in the letter?” Lorian asked, leaning forward eagerly.

Renar shook his head. “Couldn’t risk intercepting it without tipping him off. But I did manage to confirm where it was sent: a warehouse on the outskirts of the city.”

A warehouse. The very word sent a chill down my spine, conjuring images of shadowy figures and clandestine dealings. It was too convenient, too stereotypical, and yet...

“I don’t like it,” I said, folding my arms. “If Fennor’s cautious enough to avoid the main gate, why would he risk being seen at a courier’s office?”

“It could be a trap,” Renar admitted, his expression grim. “But it’s also our best lead.”

While Renar tracked Fennor’s movements, Lorian had been busy digging through the remnants of his office during her covert visits. Her efforts yielded something unexpected—a ledger, buried beneath a pile of innocuous-looking documents.

At first glance, it seemed to be a record of routine academy expenses, but Lorian had a knack for spotting irregularities.

“This entry here,” she said, pointing to a line item labeled Logistics Fund Allocation. “It’s marked as ‘classified,’ but the amount doesn’t match up with anything the academy would need.”

The figure was substantial—enough to fund a small militia.

“What’s more,” Lorian continued, “it’s signed off by someone other than Fennor. See this stamp?” She held up the ledger, and my stomach tightened as I recognized the insignia.

A coiled serpent.

“The Rithane crest,” I murmured.

Renar frowned. “House Rithane funding Fennor’s activities? That explains a lot.”

It explained too much, in fact. Fennor’s unusual behavior, the cadets’ deaths, even his lectures on logistics that seemed to veer into uncharted territory—it all pointed to one thing. Fennor wasn’t just a rogue actor; he was a cog in a much larger machine.

As the pieces clicked into place, I felt a surge of conflicting emotions. On one hand, there was satisfaction in uncovering the truth—proof that my suspicions about Fennor hadn’t been unfounded. But on the other, there was the weight of what it all meant.

This wasn’t just about Fennor or even the cadets. It was about House Rithane tightening its grip on Valtheris, using pawns like Fennor to carry out their schemes. And if Fennor was willing to align himself with them, what else might he be capable of?

“We need to be careful,” I said, my voice low but firm. “If Fennor realizes we’re onto him, he’ll bury whatever evidence we haven’t found yet—and we’ll lose any chance to stop this before it escalates.”

Renar nodded. “Agreed. The warehouse could hold the answers we need, but we have to approach it strategically.”

By the time we adjourned, a plan was already forming. The warehouse on the outskirts of Qalbargh would be our next destination, but it wouldn’t be a simple reconnaissance mission. This time, we were stepping directly into enemy territory.

As I stared at the map spread out before us, marking the warehouse’s location, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were walking into something far bigger than we’d anticipated. But if we didn’t act, the Rithane’s plans would march forward unchallenged.

The time for observation was over. Now, it was time to confront the truth head-on.

**

The warehouse stood at the edge of Qalbargh like a shadowed sentinel, its looming silhouette outlined by the faint glow of distant lanterns. It was unremarkable in its architecture—just another forgotten structure tucked away in a quiet district—but something about it felt wrong. Too quiet. Too still.

Renar, Lorian, and I crouched behind a line of barrels stacked near an abandoned dock. The stagnant air carried the faint smell of rust and mildew, mingling with the distant lapping of water against the stone. From our vantage point, we could see the main entrance, a heavy wooden door guarded by two men dressed in nondescript clothing.

“They’re armed,” Renar whispered, nodding toward the glint of steel partially hidden beneath one guard’s coat. “Looks like short swords.”

“And they’re not just standing there for show,” Lorian added, her sharp eyes scanning their movements. “See how they shift every few minutes? They’re on high alert.”

It wasn’t just the guards. The warehouse itself had an unsettling air of readiness. Lanterns hung at strategic intervals, casting pools of light that left few shadows to hide in. The windows were barred, and the only other visible entrance—a side door—had a thick chain wrapped around its handle.

“We need a better look inside,” I murmured, studying the layout. “Renar, any sign of patrols?”

He shook his head. “Not yet. But if there are guards out here, there’s bound to be more inside.”

Lorian smirked. “Good thing stealth is your forte, Illiad.”

I shot her a look, but she wasn’t wrong. This wasn’t the time for a frontal assault.

“We’ll split up,” I decided. “Lorian, circle around and see if you can find another way in. Renar, stay here and keep an eye on the guards. If anything changes, signal us.”

“And you?” Renar asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I’ll get closer and see what I can hear,” I said, pulling the hood of my cloak over my head.

The ground was uneven beneath my boots as I crept closer, keeping low to avoid the light. My heart thudded in my chest, a steady rhythm that seemed deafening in the silence. I focused on my breathing, on the careful placement of each step.

The guards were speaking in hushed tones, their voices carrying just enough for me to catch fragments of their conversation.

“...shipment’s late again. Boss won’t be happy.”

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“He’ll deal with it. He always does.”

“Still, you’d think with what we’re moving, they’d be more careful.”

I frowned. Shipment? What could they possibly be moving that required this level of secrecy?

As I edged closer to the warehouse, I caught sight of something near the side entrance—a stack of crates partially obscured by a tarp. The symbols stamped on the crates were unfamiliar, but the markings were precise, almost military in nature.

A soft rustle signaled Lorian’s return, her footsteps so light I almost didn’t hear her approach. She crouched beside me, her expression grim.

“There’s a back window, high up,” she whispered. “It’s small, but I could slip through if needed. Inside, there’s a group of people—not just guards. Looked like they were unloading crates.”

My mind raced. The guards’ mention of a shipment suddenly made more sense. If this warehouse was a hub for smuggling operations tied to House Rithane, the contents of those crates could be critical evidence.

“Anything else?” I asked.

She hesitated. “There’s someone in charge. I couldn’t see their face, but they were giving orders. Everyone seemed... tense.”

I nodded, filing away the information. The pieces were starting to come together, but we needed more.

Returning to Renar, I relayed what we’d seen and heard.

“This isn’t just a storage site,” I said. “They’re actively moving something—something important.”

Renar’s eyes narrowed. “If it’s connected to House Rithane, it could be anything from weapons to supplies for their private forces.”

“Or something worse,” Lorian muttered, her tone dark.

Whatever it was, we couldn’t leave without answers. But storming the warehouse was out of the question, and simply observing wouldn’t be enough.

“We wait until they’re distracted,” I said finally. “When they start moving the crates again, we slip inside. Lorian can take the high window while Renar and I use the side entrance once the guards shift positions.”

Renar frowned. “And if something goes wrong?”

“It won’t,” I said, more confidently than I felt. “We’re not here to fight. Just to gather information.”

As we settled into position, the weight of the moment pressed down on me. Whatever lay inside that warehouse, it wasn’t just contraband. It was a key—another piece of the puzzle tying Master Fennor, House Rithane, and the academy into a web of deceit and danger.

And we were about to step right into the heart of it.

**

The plan had been set, each step carefully calculated, yet there was no preparing for what we were about to uncover.

Lorian slipped through the high window like a shadow, her agility uncanny. Renar and I waited below, hidden by the crates stacked against the warehouse's side. My ears strained for any sign from her, the seconds stretching into an eternity. Finally, a faint tap—a signal—reached us. She was in position.

Renar gestured toward the guards near the side entrance, who had just begun their usual pacing shift. We crept forward, moving with the deliberate care of predators stalking prey. The chain on the side door had been left loose—strange for such a heavily guarded operation. It wasn’t an oversight. It was intentional.

My instincts prickled with unease.

The interior was dimly lit, the air thick with the musty smell of old wood and something sharper—chemicals? The crates Lorian had described were piled high, their markings clearer up close. They bore a sigil I recognized but couldn’t immediately place, a coiled serpent encircling an unfamiliar crest.

Renar whispered, “These symbols… they’re coded. Military surplus? No, something more clandestine.”

Before I could reply, movement caught my eye. Lorian was perched on a high beam, signaling frantically. Her expression wasn’t just urgent—it was fearful.

I turned just in time to see a figure emerge from the shadows at the far end of the warehouse. They were cloaked, their features obscured, but their presence was commanding. The guards instantly stiffened, their casual postures vanishing as they snapped to attention.

The figure raised a gloved hand, and silence fell.

“Progress?” the cloaked figure asked, their voice low and sharp, cutting through the room like a blade.

One of the guards stepped forward nervously. “The shipments are on schedule, sir. No disruptions so far.”

“Good. They must remain that way.” The figure’s gaze swept across the room, and for a moment, it felt as though they could see through every shadow, including ours.

Renar tapped my shoulder, his signal to retreat. But before we could move, the figure spoke again, this time with a chilling edge.

“And the loose ends?”

The guard hesitated. “Dealt with, sir. As you ordered. The cadets... they won’t talk.”

My stomach twisted. Loose ends. Cadets. They were talking about Rafe, Kalden, and the others.

The figure let out a quiet hum of approval. “Good. Failures are not tolerated. Ensure the next shipment is flawless. And remember...”

The figure stepped closer, into the light, revealing their face partially beneath the hood. My breath caught. It was Master Fennor.

Renar stiffened beside me, his eyes narrowing in recognition. My mind raced. This wasn’t just suspicion anymore—this was proof. Master Fennor, the seemingly unassuming academic, wasn’t just complicit in the deaths of the cadets; he was orchestrating something far larger.

As Fennor turned to examine one of the crates, I felt Lorian’s signal—a faint tap from above. Retreat. Now.

I tugged on Renar’s sleeve, and we began to back away toward the door, our movements painstakingly slow. But just as we reached the threshold, a sudden creak from the beam above broke the silence.

Lorian.

The guards’ heads snapped up, and Fennor’s eyes narrowed. “What was that?”

Panic surged through me. We couldn’t let Lorian be caught—not when we were so close to uncovering the truth. Without thinking, I grabbed a nearby rock and hurled it toward a stack of crates on the opposite side of the room.

The crash was deafening.

Fennor barked an order, and the guards rushed toward the noise. Taking advantage of the chaos, I gestured for Renar to cover Lorian’s retreat as I slipped out the door.

Minutes later, we regrouped in the alley outside, all three of us breathless. Lorian’s face was pale, her hands trembling slightly.

“I—I thought they saw me,” she stammered.

“They didn’t,” I assured her, though my own heart was pounding. “But we need to move. Now.”

Renar nodded grimly. “That was too close. And now we know for sure—Fennor isn’t just involved. He’s in command of something bigger.”

As we disappeared into the night, one thought consumed me: we were no longer playing a game of suspicion and theories. We were caught in a web of betrayal and danger, and Fennor was at the center of it.

This wasn’t just about justice anymore. It was survival.

**

The room was quiet except for the sound of Renar pacing back and forth, his boots scuffing against the worn floorboards of our small hideout. Lorian sat cross-legged on the ground, her brow furrowed as she traced the sigil we had seen in the warehouse onto a scrap of parchment. I leaned against the wall, arms crossed, replaying the events of the night over and over in my mind.

“We have proof now,” Renar muttered, his voice sharp with frustration. “Fennor is tied to this. And it’s not just a petty operation—this is coordinated, deliberate. But how far does it go? And why now?”

His words mirrored the storm in my own head. Master Fennor had always been unremarkable on the surface—mild-mannered, quietly intelligent, and deeply loyal to the academy, or so it seemed. But the image of him standing in that warehouse, cloaked in authority, had shattered that illusion completely.

“He knew about the cadets,” I said finally, breaking the tense silence. “He didn’t just know—they were acting on his orders. He’s the reason they’re dead.”

Lorian looked up from her sketch, her eyes wide with unease. “But why would he do that? What could he gain from it?”

Renar stopped pacing and turned to face us. “Control. Influence. Or maybe he’s just a pawn himself, moving under orders. What’s clear is that this isn’t about the cadets or us. This is bigger. It always has been.”

I nodded slowly. “It’s not just Fennor. The sigil we saw—the serpent encircling the crest—it’s not random. It means something. Something connected to House Rithane.”

Lorian’s hand froze mid-sketch, her gaze snapping to mine. “You think they’re involved in this too?”

I exhaled sharply, the weight of my suspicions pressing against my chest. “I don’t think. I know. This has their fingerprints all over it. Fennor is working for someone higher, and House Rithane is the most likely candidate.”

Renar leaned against the edge of the table, his face unreadable. “If that’s true, then we’re in deeper trouble than we thought. House Rithane doesn’t just crush dissent—they obliterate it. And if Fennor is their agent, then he’ll know we’re getting too close.”

Lorian’s usual energy seemed to drain from her, leaving her uncharacteristically subdued. “So what do we do now? We can’t go back to the academy pretending nothing’s wrong. But we can’t just confront Fennor either. Not without more proof.”

Her words struck a chord. As much as I wanted to charge ahead, to confront Fennor and expose him, I knew she was right. We needed more than the glimpse of a sigil or the memory of whispered orders in the dark. We needed evidence—irrefutable, undeniable proof that could tear through whatever web of lies he had spun.

“We have to keep digging,” I said, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside me. “Fennor is careful, but everyone makes mistakes. If we can find a crack in his armor—a document, a witness, anything—we can use it.”

Renar’s lips pressed into a thin line. “That means more risk. More chances to get caught.”

I met his gaze. “I know. But we don’t have a choice.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts. The stakes were higher now than ever before, and the path ahead was fraught with danger. Renar’s concern, Lorian’s unease—they mirrored my own fears, fears I couldn’t afford to dwell on. Not now.

“We’ve come too far to stop now,” I said finally, my voice firm. “If we back down, more people will suffer. More people will die. I won’t let that happen.”

Lorian nodded hesitantly, her expression resolute despite the lingering fear in her eyes. Renar gave a short, sharp nod, his usual confidence tempered by caution.

“All right,” he said. “But we need to be smart about this. No more risks than necessary. We can’t afford to lose anyone.”

His words hung in the air, a stark reminder of how fragile our position was. I clenched my fists, determination hardening in my chest. No matter how dangerous it became, no matter what the cost, I wouldn’t let this conspiracy crush us.

Not again.

**

The quiet hours after our discussion hung heavy in the air, like the aftermath of a battle. Renar had retreated to a corner of the hideout, his face buried in a stack of maps and documents he’d taken from the warehouse. Lorian was sprawled on the floor, her arms folded behind her head, her gaze fixed on the ceiling as if searching for answers hidden in its cracks. I sat at the edge of the table, the weight of our discoveries pressing against my chest like a leaden anchor.

The truth was, we were unprepared for this. The layers of deceit we’d uncovered weren’t just overwhelming—they were out of our league. I wasn’t naive enough to believe otherwise. Fennor wasn’t just a teacher who’d gone rogue; he was a pawn of something far greater, a conspiracy that had threads tied to the highest echelons of power. The stakes had escalated, and I wasn’t sure if we could keep up.

My thoughts drifted to Tessara. She was training hard, determined to carve out a sense of strength after her ordeal, but I hadn’t involved her in this. Not yet. A part of me wanted to protect her from the chaos, but another part—the one that knew Tessara’s resolve—wondered if that was a mistake. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that one wrong move could draw her into danger she wasn’t ready for.

“You’re overthinking again.” Lorian’s voice broke the silence, her tone as casual as ever, but I didn’t miss the note of concern beneath it.

I glanced at her. “Can you blame me?”

She sat up, brushing a stray lock of hair out of her face. “No, but it’s not going to help. If anything, it’ll just make things worse.”

Renar looked up from his maps, his eyes dark with exhaustion. “Lorian’s right, for once. Doubt is fine—healthy, even—but if you let it consume you, it’ll paralyze you. And we can’t afford that.”

I let out a slow breath, the tension in my shoulders easing slightly. They were right, of course. But their words didn’t make the burden any lighter.

“We’re pushing the limits of what we can handle,” I admitted. “This isn’t like the drills at the academy or the training exercises in the field. This is real. And if we’re not careful, we’re going to end up like Rafe and the others.”

Renar’s expression tightened at my words, but he didn’t argue. Lorian, however, leaned forward, her gaze steady.

“Maybe we’re out of our depth,” she said. “But what’s the alternative? Walk away? Pretend none of this is happening? I know you, Illiad. That’s not in your nature.”

Her words struck a chord. She wasn’t wrong. The thought of turning my back on this, on the cadets who’d died, on the lives that were still at stake—it was unbearable.

“But that doesn’t mean we can keep going the way we have been,” Renar said, his voice low but firm. “We’ve been improvising, reacting instead of planning. We need to be smarter, more strategic. If we don’t, we’re going to get caught. Or worse.”

I nodded slowly. “You’re right. We’ve been playing their game on their terms. That has to change.”

The conversation shifted into a stark analysis of our limitations. Renar pointed out gaps in our knowledge—things we still didn’t understand about Fennor’s role, about House Rithane’s involvement, about the connections between them. Lorian highlighted our lack of resources and allies, emphasizing how precarious our position was. And I had to confront my own failings—my tendency to shoulder too much, to try to protect everyone even when it wasn’t possible.

But amidst the critique, there was also a spark of determination. We might not have been ready for this fight when it started, but we were learning. Adapting. And that mattered.

“We need to train harder,” I said finally, breaking the silence. “Not just physically, but mentally. Strategically. We need to think like them—anticipate their moves before they make them.”

Renar smirked faintly. “Now you’re starting to sound like a tactician.”

Lorian grinned. “About time. I was starting to think you’d forgotten how to be ruthless.”

I didn’t laugh, but their words brought a flicker of warmth to the cold resolve in my chest. They believed in me, in us, even when the odds were stacked against us. And that was enough to keep me going.

“We’ll find a way through this,” I said, more to myself than to them. “We have to.”

The room fell quiet again, but this time, the silence felt less like defeat and more like determination. We weren’t invincible, and we weren’t ready. But we were willing to fight, to adapt, to grow.

And that would have to be enough.