Crow Von Flockson was already growing weary of this so-called meeting. He had come here as part of the delegation, and now regretted asking his brother permission to join.

Sitting by the main fire in the middle of the Kings Guard settlement, he watched the peasant class being put to work under the watchful eyes of the nobles. It was much the same as the Iron Heart camp, yet it felt entirely different. His brother, Raven Von Flockson, was nothing like this so-called Star King, Roof Von Schlieffen—a ridiculous title for a boy of his age. Roof's martial arts might be impressive here in this small, isolated world, but they would mean nothing in the wider one. Still, even Raven had begrudgingly admitted that Roof could pose a problem for the two brothers. That was the main reason Crow had come here: to forge an alliance. They had to pass the test and survive long enough to find a way out of this godforsaken hole. The others with him were growing impatient too. The deal was done—Queens Hand would fall. Now they just wanted to leave.

If only that damned boy hadn’t shouted about some stupid pig. A young guard had leapt down from the scaffolding while Crow and Roof were in the middle of discussions. Crow had been irritated by the interruption and even more so when Roof suggested they celebrate the union of the Kings Guard and Iron Hearts with a feast. He had tried to avoid it, but here he was, sitting in front of the fire, watching the camp’s cook churn the pig’s skin on a spit roast. Around him, the other Kings Guard had gathered, including the Kings Fist. Crow eyed them carefully, noting that the rumours seemed to be true—Roof had indeed begun teaching martial arts to some of his own men. And they looked skilled. The Schlieffen family martial arts was not something to be taken lightly.

Sipping from a wooden cup that had been handed to him, Crow peered over the rim, scanning the crowd for anyone who got too close. The little party was starting to ramp up, excitement building as the pig neared completion. Many were already salivating at the sight. Glancing at his companion seated beside him on the same log, their eyes met, and both silently wished they could just leave.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Star King Roof rose from a log on the opposite side of the fire. It seemed he was done picking which of the girls would keep his bed warm for the night.

“This is a most fortuitous moment indeed,” Roof began, his voice booming. “For today, the Iron Hearts and Kings Guard join hands!”

The crowd roared in approval, though Crow noticed his fellow Iron Hearts exchanging glances, clapping only to keep up appearances. Roof, oblivious, basked in the noise, his ego swelling with every cheer. “With this deal I’ve secured our victory! I, the Star King, will be the light in this darkness, leading our fight against those whores in the Queens Hand!”

A few scattered laughs erupted from the crowd. Crow forced a grin, though the words left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Of course, whores are meant to be shared!" Star King Roof continued, a smirk spreading across his face. "Don’t worry, whoever racks up the most bodies in the next battle will get their turn with that Nessa whore! Only after me, of course!”

Another round of cheers followed. Crow observed carefully. His brother had been right—no matter how crude Roof’s words, his Schlieffen blood showed. His aura, his charisma—it had clearly won over most of his men. Roof could voice his true thoughts openly, and no one seemed to bat an eye.

"Fluko, step forward," Star King Roof commanded.

The small, scrawny red-haired boy Crow had seen jump from the scaffolding earlier hesitantly stepped forward. This was the boy who had shot the rare pig. Doesn’t look like much, thought Crow.

"It's Fulx—" the boy began to stammer, trying to correct Roof, but Roof ignored him with practiced ease. Grabbing the boy's arm, Roof raised it into the air.

"As a reward for that magnificent shot, this little man will get a day off from patrol! Come on, give our dear comrade a round of applause!"

The crowd clapped, though noticeably less enthusiastically, most of them now fixated on the roasting pig. The red-haired boy looked crestfallen, mumbling something about wanting to learn martial arts. His words were lost as Roof’s personal bodyguards quietly ushered him back into the crowd.

"Now, let us feast!"

Another cheer went up as Crow shifted his gaze toward the palisades. The fire pit had been built on a mound level with the height of the palisade walls, giving defenders the perfect vantage point to spot approaching enemies. As Roof continued his speech, the words faded into background noise. Crow’s attention was elsewhere. He stared into the canopy of trees, noting that nothing moved. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but it was as if everything living in the forest had suddenly vanished. The trees themselves seemed to be holding their breath.

Crow felt the familiar prickle of danger—something Raven had once called his gift. A sixth sense for things unseen. His eyes scanned the group of sweaty faces gathered around the fire, watching Roof. Something was off.

A clattering sound brought Crow’s attention back. The bowls of food were being passed around, and Crow was handed his. The meat sat heavily in the bowl—greasy, glistening under the firelight. But something about it seemed wrong. His instinct screamed at him to take a closer look.

He brought the bowl closer, inhaling deeply. It wasn’t just his sixth sense that was sharp—the Flockson family had always been known for their keen noses as well. The scent of roasted pork should have filled his senses, but instead… there was something missing. Something vital. He sniffed again, more intently. The rich, smoky aroma of the meat wasn’t right.

Raven’s words echoed in his mind. “Remember what our father taught us. The bird takes flight at the slightest rustle in the bush.”

It was no lesson in cowardice. It was a warning—to recognize danger, to take a step back and assess. And right now, Crow was sure of it: something wasn’t right with this food.

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If it hadn’t been for his family’s sharp noses, honed over generations, he wouldn’t have noticed the subtle absence of certain smells—seasonings that should’ve been there, or the natural aroma of the pig itself. His eyes narrowed as he discreetly leaned toward his companion beside him.

“Smell anything strange?” he muttered under his breath, still holding the bowl close.

His companion, startled, took a whiff and immediately shook his head, shooting Crow a wary glance. That was all the confirmation Crow needed. His instincts had been right. If the smell was off, others would've noticed it and it would've just meant the meat had gone bad. This was something else.

His heart began to pound in his chest, not from fear, but from cold calculation. The Flocksons had always been cautious, trained to detect danger when others might miss it. Crow set the bowl down quietly and looked back toward Roof, who was still talking, oblivious to Crow’s scrutiny.

Something wasn’t just wrong with the food—something was wrong with all of this. The feast, the celebration, the union.

It was time to take a step back, just as Raven had taught him. He had to confirm the threat before it was too late.

***

The familiar weight of Mal in his hair was gone, and it made Aziz feel strangely unsettled. He had grown used to the snake’s quiet presence; it had become a small reminder that he was never truly alone. But Delilah couldn’t be left defenceless. At least Mal could protect her if anything happened. He could have brought her along, but a part of him—a part he knew he would need to sever—didn’t want her to witness what he was about to do.

Aziz had Shadow Stepped directly to the gate of the Kings Guard encampment, slipping past the sentries undetected. None of them could sense internal energy, which made his task significantly easier. With a fluid motion, he used Wraith Walk to phase through the wooden gate.

For the next ten minutes, he scouted the camp, searching for any potential problems. His patience was rewarded when Roof—or Star King Roof, as he apparently preferred to be called—began his speech. From the rooftop of one of the log houses, Aziz watched the gathering below. The red-haired boy was brought forward, looking elated. The boy had completely missed the shot, of course. Aziz had used Shadow Grasp to make the pig seem alive, while asking Delilah to mimic the sound of a dying animal the moment the arrow was loosed. He had even ensured the pig was just outside the forest's edge, but the boy had still missed. Aziz had been forced to move the pig’s body into the path of the arrow. In his joy, the boy hadn’t even noticed.

Aziz’s attention shifted to the group seated near the fire in a private viewing area—the Iron Hearts. Some of them knew martial arts; he could see their internal energy leaking from their pores. They hadn’t yet learned to conceal their aura, making them easy to identify. Hiding one's internal energy was one of the first things Shadow Scales Zhang had taught him.

But the boy with the club—Crow—was the most interesting. Roof had publicly thanked Crow for coming, though it was clear from the subtle distortions in Crow's internal energy that he felt uneasy around the Kings Guard. That, more than anything, piqued Aziz’s interest. Maybe all was not as it seems.

"Let us feast!" shouted Roof.

It begins, thought Aziz, his patience finally rewarded. The pig was ready, and the cook had begun slicing it up.

Aziz watched from his perch as the crowd of thirty or so teenagers gathered around, eager to feast. They had no idea that the pig had been poisoned—its flesh tainted by his own blood, infused with the venom of the black-death snake. His blood carried the same deadly potency, a venom so rare that it hadn’t been seen in centuries. No one would have recognized it. The poison left no trace, no discoloration, no odd texture. It looked like ordinary meat.

But as the first plates were being handed out, Aziz noticed something strange: Crow and his companions quietly excused themselves, slipping away from the gathering. Aziz frowned. Did they notice? It seemed impossible. No one in the Iron Hearts could have the capability to detect something as obscure as black-death venom. It had been absent from the world for hundreds of years, forgotten by all but a few. Still, he couldn’t shake the sense that something had tipped them off. But it didn’t matter. The Iron Hearts weren’t his target tonight.

His attention shifted back to Roof, who had noticed their early departure as well. Aziz watched as the self-proclaimed Star King called after them, his tone questioning, though the clamour of the crowd drowned out their conversation. Roof didn’t press the matter and returned to his people, who were now eagerly reaching for the bowls being passed around by the cook. The delegation was already gone, but no one seemed to care. All eyes were on the food.

How much has Roof starved these lot? Aziz mused. The difference between the nobles and the peasants was painfully obvious. The nobles, fattened by better rations, sat comfortably, while the peasants were gaunt and hollow-eyed, driven half-mad by hunger. The only exceptions were a few of the peasants who had been handpicked by Roof, those who had learned some martial arts. Their physiques were lean and hardened, their movements sharper than the rest.

As the crowd began feasting around the fire, talking and laughing, Aziz's mind drifted to Marcus. The cage that had once held the boy hung empty at the centre of the camp, swinging slightly from its post. They must have moved him, Aziz thought. Probably to avoid the unsightly spectacle in front of the Iron Heart delegation. The only place he hadn’t checked yet was the wooden cabin at the back of the camp. Marcus had to be there. But first, he would deal with the Kings Guard.

It didn’t take long.

Most poisons, when cooked with meat, lost their potency, either neutralized or significantly weakened by the heat. But black-death venom was different. In a few minutes, the first signs appeared. One of the boys, laughing moments earlier, winced and rubbed his temples. Then another. The laughter grew quieter as more and more of them began shifting uncomfortably, hands clutching their heads.

Aziz watched from the shadows, his eyes sharp, his breath steady. Wait for it, he told himself, I hope you're watching Master Xian.

His second master, the Serpent Fang Xian wasn't just a thinker but a master of poisons. Under him Aziz had studied various poison arts. During his transformation in the pit, Aziz had noticed his own blood was filled with poison just as potent as black-death venom. Aziz himself was a walking death tonic. Having done various experiments on his blood, he had found his boiled blood made a reduced version of the poison. Able to knock living creatures unconscious. He had only experimented with animals from the forest. This was his first time trying it on other humans. It would prove to be important information, so Aziz watched intently, making sure to take it all in.

Roof, seated in the centre of it all, started to look uneasy. He was halfway through a chunk of meat when he paused, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His brow furrowed as if something was wrong, his gaze falling to the food in front of him. His hand drifted to his head, fingers pressing against his temple, massaging it as though that would ease the pressure building inside.

“What’s happening?” Roof muttered, his voice low but laced with growing concern.

The others around him began to murmur, discomfort spreading like wildfire. Someone stood up too quickly and stumbled, collapsing to their knees.

Roof’s face twisted in confusion, then alarm. “What is—?”

Suddenly, a boy to his left let out a strangled cry. “Poison!” he screamed, his voice cutting through the camp like a knife.

Panic erupted. Several others stood abruptly, only to sway and collapse back down, clutching their heads or their stomachs. Some fell to the ground, vomiting violently, while others clutched their throats, gasping for air.

Roof staggered to his feet, his hand still pressed against his skull as though trying to hold it together. His eyes darted around the camp, wild with fear and disbelief. “No... no, it can’t be—”