Rook moved through the thick mist like a shadow, his steps near-silent against the dampened cobblestones. The ever-present fog of the Whispers curled around him, swirling in ghostly shapes before vanishing into the night. At his side, Liora matched his pace effortlessly, her lithe form barely making a sound as they strode deeper into the abandoned district.
He didn't speak.
Neither did she.
There was no need for words between them.
Rook's thoughts were already occupied—turning over the consequences of his own machinations, the carefully placed pieces moving across the board exactly as he intended. Davin had been nothing more than a tool, bait meant to lure Char and his allies into action. He had known the boy wouldn't win. Hadn't even expected him to hold out for long. But he hadexpected him to be left behind.
And that was what he was here to collect.
Liora's hood was drawn low over her face, but he could still sense her eyes scanning the mist, the glint of her knives barely visible at her waist. She was tense—not out of fear, but anticipation.
"They did a number on him," she murmured, finally breaking the silence as they neared their destination.
Rook smirked. "If he hadn't been beaten half to death, I'd have been disappointed."
Liora huffed softly in amusement but didn't comment further.
And then, through the mist, they saw him.
Davin hung limply from the chains that bound him, arms strung up above his head from the rusted post of the abandoned warehouse. His clothes were torn, his face bruised and bloodied, a deep gash across his ribs still oozing sluggishly. His breathing was ragged, shallow, but he was alive. Barely.
Rook stopped a few paces away, tilting his head slightly. "Well. He's still breathing."
Liora crossed her arms. "For now."
The soft click of her boot against stone made Davin stir. His head lolled weakly, dried blood cracking along his cheek as he forced his swollen eyes open just enough to register the figures in front of him.
Recognition flickered. Then fury.
"…You," he rasped, his voice barely more than a whisper.
Rook smiled. "Me."
Davin made a weak, half-hearted struggle against his restraints, but his body had long since given up on him. He barely managed to lift his head before he coughed violently, his whole frame shaking from the effort.
"You… set me up," he wheezed, eyes burning with rage even through the pain.
Rook gave a slow, dramatic shrug. "Did I?"
Liora sighed, sounding almost bored. "If you're about to start monologuing about betrayal, don't bother. You should've expected it."
Davin bared his teeth, the closest thing to a sneer his battered face could muster. "You—you told them about me. You let them come here."
Rook crouched slightly, meeting Davin's glare with an easy smirk. "And yet, here I am, collecting you. What does that tell you?"
Davin's lips curled in frustration, but he didn't answer.
Rook straightened again. "If I wanted you dead, you'd already be six feet under. So maybe think before you start throwing accusations, hmm?"
Liora rolled her shoulders. "Are we taking him, or are we leaving him to rot?"
Rook turned back to Davin, considering. The man was still useful—barely—but his failure meant that his value had dropped significantly. He was no longer an asset, just another pawn that had outlived his immediate purpose.
Still.
The Syndicate could use him.
If nothing else, Varrel might appreciate the opportunity to clean up a loose end himself.
"…Cut him down."
Liora sighed but stepped forward, drawing one of her daggers with practiced ease. With a single swift motion, she slashed through the chains, and Davin crumpled instantly, collapsing into a heap on the ground. He groaned, barely conscious, as Liora crouched beside him, grabbing him by the collar and hoisting him up onto her shoulder.
"He's heavier than he looks," she muttered.
"Then carry him faster."
She rolled her eyes but adjusted her grip, steadying Davin's weight as she followed Rook back into the mist.
They disappeared into the night, leaving nothing behind but the echo of Davin's ragged breathing and the still, empty silence of the abandoned streets.
*
The southern edge of Oryn-Vel was a maze of half-abandoned warehouses, old merchant stalls, and winding alleyways where the city's underbelly thrived under the cover of darkness. The air smelled of damp wood, sea salt, and the acrid bite of burning oil from nearby lanterns. Elyan and Renna moved with purpose, their boots soundless against the dirt-packed streets as they approached a modest, unmarked storefront.
Inside, they knew, was their target—a man named Varlo Meir, a known smuggler and supplier to the Syndicate. Their intel suggested that he controlled the flow of illicit goods—stolen artifacts, weapons, alchemical substances, anything that could strengthen the Syndicate's growing hold on the city.
The plan was simple: Convince him to talk. If he resisted, take him down.
Renna adjusted the high collar of her coat, her expression flickering with amusement. "You think he'll go quietly?"
Elyan sighed, her fingers already resting near the hilt of her rapier. "No. But we have to try."
With a nod, Renna strode forward and pushed the door open.
The interior was dim, lit by a single oil lamp on a wooden counter. Stacks of crates and sacks lined the walls, likely filled with contraband. Behind the counter sat Varlo, a lean man with sharp, sunken features, his dark eyes flicking up from a ledger in his hands. He had the look of someone who had spent too long in the trade—too much smoke in his lungs, too many late nights avoiding a knife in the back.
"Well," Varlo drawled, setting down his quill. "If it isn't Elyan. Heard you went soft." His gaze flicked to Renna. "And you must be her little friend."
Renna leaned on the counter, grinning. "Oh, I like this one. He's got the mouth of a dead man."
Elyan ignored the jab. "We're here to talk, Varlo. We know you're funneling goods into the Syndicate. You're going to tell us exactly where and how."
Varlo snorted, scratching at the stubble on his jaw. "And why would I do that?"
Renna tilted her head. "Because if you don't, we'll beat you bloody, string you up, and let every single contact you have see what happens when someone crosses us."
There was a moment of silence.
Then, Varlo laughed.
Low and amused at first, then rising into something sharper—mocking. "Oh, you think you've got the upper hand, do you?" His hand shifted subtly beneath the counter. "You came in here thinking I'd be an easy mark, that I'd just let you take me in."
Elyan's muscles tensed.
Then Varlo moved.
The lamp flickered—then burst, plunging the room into near-total darkness.
Before either of them could react, something slammed into Elyan's ribs, hard. She gasped, stumbling back, her blade scraping free of its sheath as she struggled to see where the attack had come from.
Another strike—**from behind this time—**slammed into her shoulder, nearly knocking her off balance. But when she turned, there was nothing there.
Renna spun, daggers flashing in the dim light. "What the hell—"
Then Varlo's voice came, echoing as if from all around them. "Phantom Presence. Ever heard of it?"
Elyan's stomach twisted.
A cloaking ability. No—more than that.
Phantom Presence allowed the user to project their attacks from unseen angles, making them almost impossible to predict.
Renna was already moving, her senses sharp, but she barely had time to react before she, too, was struck—a heavy impact against her back that sent her staggering. She slashed blindly in the direction it had come from, but her blade met nothing but air.
"Damn it," Renna hissed, spinning. "Coward!"
Another strike—this time at Elyan's legs. She bit back a curse as she dropped to a knee, barely managing to parry a sword that wasn't there.
Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw it.
A flicker. A distortion in the air.
Elyan didn't hesitate.
She lunged.
Her rapier flashed forward, slicing through the faint shimmer in the darkness—and met resistance.
A sharp gasp came from Varlo as he stumbled back into view, clutching his arm where she had cut him. The illusion had cracked.
Renna saw her opening and moved in, fast. She struck low, aiming for his legs, but before she could land the blow, Varlo twisted and kicked her blade away, then disappeared again.
"Tch—" Renna swore, adjusting her grip.
Elyan's mind raced. He's good. A normal fighter, she could deal with. But this—a constant barrage of attacks from unseen angles—was dangerous.
"We need to pin him down," she called to Renna, scanning the space.
Renna exhaled sharply. "I've got an idea."
With a sudden flick of her wrist, she pulled free a small vial of powdered glass from her belt and shattered it against the floor.
The air filled with a fine, glimmering mist—barely visible, but enough.
Now, when Varlo moved, his outline shimmered faintly in the disturbed dust.
"There you are," Renna grinned.
Varlo snarled and lunged—this time visible enough to track. Elyan pivoted, sidestepping the incoming strike and catching his arm with the tip of her blade.
He cursed, staggering—but then he did something unexpected.
He grabbed Renna.
Before she could react, his dagger was at her throat.
The fight stopped.
Elyan's breath caught as she froze, watching the blade press against Renna's skin. The smuggler was panting, blood trailing from his wounds, but his grip was iron.
"That's enough," Varlo growled, his voice rough. "You move, she dies."
Renna didn't so much as flinch. "Oh, please. You think I haven't been in worse situations?"
But Elyan wasn't looking at her—she was studying Varlo.
He's injured. Cornered. If she made a move now, it had to count.
The moment stretched.
Then—Varlo tightened his grip.
"Drop your weapon," he hissed. "Now."
Elyan's jaw clenched.
The blade at Renna's throat gleamed under the faint light—and then Renna did the last thing anyone expected.
She grinned.
"You should've held on tighter."
Then—she moved.
Faster than Varlo could react, she twisted her head and BIT DOWN on his wrist.
He yelled, momentarily loosening his hold.
And Elyan struck.
Her rapier flashed in a clean, precise arc—aiming directly for his heart.
Then—
Varlo vanished.
Not a trick. Not an illusion.
Gone.
Only the faintest drift of disturbed dust remained where he had been.
Elyan and Renna were left standing in stunned silence, heartbeats pounding.
Renna wiped her mouth, scowling. "Bastard got away."
Elyan gritted her teeth. "No." Her gaze flicked toward the shadows beyond the alley.
"He's still here."