While the city continued its life in the usual flow, time moved differently for him.
The memories of his former days seemed to crawl out from beneath every stone.
But he was no longer part of the past.
In Aldenora, news always spread fastest through the taverns.
Rumors traveled quicker than ale, and the city’s greatest secrets spilled from the mouths of the drunk.
Velmorian stepped through the door of a run-down yet lively tavern.
The inside was thick with tobacco smoke and the sour scent of old beer.
In one corner, dice clattered across a backgammon board; in another, the dull clinking of mugs met the deep laughter of men.
He wondered if anyone in this place still spoke of his death.
In the far corner of the bar, two men spoke in hushed tones.
“If he can’t pay his debts, Garran Holt won’t be seeing the next moon,” one of them muttered.
“Garran? He always finds a way. Probably stolen someone’s coin again,” the other chuckled.
Something stirred in Velmorian’s chest.
The first name on the parchment had finally surfaced.
Garran Holt…
“This time might be different,” the first man said.
“Word is, he swindled a merchant. Picked the wrong people to cross.”
“Who?”
“I think... one of Hogen’s men.”
Velmorian frowned slightly at the name Hogen.
In the city, that man was known for laundering dirty money, collecting debts, and running half of Aldenora’s underground.
If Garran had truly made an enemy of him, his days were already numbered.
That could either make Velmorian’s task easier...
Or much more complicated.
As Velmorian sipped his drink and continued to listen, the conversation suddenly shifted.
“By the way, did you hear about Velmorian’s death?” one of them asked quietly.
The other slammed his cup down.
“Of course. Threw his life away over a woman. Fool.”
Velmorian’s heart gave a small jolt.
To hear strangers dissect his past, unaware of his presence, stirred a strange unease within him.
But then, one of them said something else.
“Don’t speak ill of him,” said the first.
“He was a good man. Not like the rest of us. At least he had honor. He even forged a sword for me once.”
Velmorian sat still, a tight knot forming in his throat.
To hear how others remembered him — some with disdain, others with respect — brought a wave of tangled emotions.
As Velmorian was still processing the words spoken about him, the tavern door suddenly burst open.
A gust of cold wind swept in as two large men entered.
They didn’t look like the usual drunks or weary travelers.
There was a weight in their gaze — sharp, searching.
One of them stepped forward, making his way to the bar with heavy, deliberate steps.
The chatter in the tavern quickly dulled.
A few men lowered their heads, focusing intently on their drinks.
Then, in a deep and commanding voice, the man asked:
“Is Garran Holt here?”
A short silence fell over the room like a heavy curtain.
Most people stared into their mugs or picked at the food before them.
Velmorian, however, took another calm sip of his drink — watching.
So Garran Holt had more enemies than just him.
He continued to observe in silence, curious who these men were, who they served, and why they were after Garran.
The barkeep cleared his throat nervously before replying:
“Don’t know anyone by that name.”
The man’s eyes narrowed.
The one behind him spat on the floor and scanned the room with suspicion.
“Don’t lie to us. We know he’s been around here.”
Velmorian leaned back slightly, weighing the scene.
Clearly, he wasn’t the only one looking for Garran.
But the real question was...
Were these men enemies — or tools yet to be used?
The tension in the tavern thickened like smoke.
Velmorian, ever composed, kept watching.
When the men eventually exited, Velmorian followed — quietly, like a shadow slipping through the cracks of the night.
As they disappeared into the alleyways, Velmorian moved after them, careful not to draw attention.
He trailed them with practiced ease — but then, a sensation crept down his spine.
He was being watched.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a woman passing by.
She slowed, turned slightly, and looked directly at him.
“You’re not from around here, are you? I don’t recall seeing you before.”
Velmorian didn’t answer. He glanced at her briefly, assessing.
She smiled softly, as if trying to lure him in.
“Not many walk these streets alone. Are you searching for something? Or just wandering?”
Velmorian’s gaze locked with hers for a moment.
She stepped closer, her interest obvious.
“Perhaps you'd like a drink? I could show you around... help a lost soul find his way.”
Though Velmorian knew he couldn’t afford to lose time, this unexpected encounter gave him a moment to think.
Whether she realized it or not, she had sensed something in him — something unnatural.
Still, Velmorian gave a small, polite nod.
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“Perhaps another time,” he said.
And moved on.
But that brief distraction cost him.
The men were gone.
Velmorian clenched his jaw and took a deep breath.
He wouldn’t give up that easily. He headed swiftly toward the last alley where he’d seen them disappear.
That’s when he heard it — voices from inside a nearby house.
A heavy, threatening voice echoed through a cracked door:
“When were you planning to pay, Garran? You think Hogen is just some street gambler?”
Another voice, frail and trembling:
“I swear, just one more week… please, just one week!”
Velmorian quickened his pace and peeked through the opening.
The large men had Garran pressed against a wall.
One of them had already drawn a knife from his belt.
No gold was coming.
Garran was broke — and about to be silenced permanently.
Velmorian didn’t hesitate.
In a single motion, he kicked the door open and stepped inside.
The room froze as Velmorian entered.
All eyes turned toward him.
Hogen’s men instinctively reached for their weapons.
But Velmorian didn’t flinch.
He spoke in a calm, commanding voice:
“Hogen thinks this has gone on long enough. I’m taking over now.”
The thugs glanced at each other, confused.
The larger one narrowed his eyes.
“Hogen sent you?”
His voice was a blend of doubt and authority.
Velmorian stared coldly.
“Do I look familiar to you?”
The man hesitated, scanning Velmorian’s posture, clothing, expression.
New face. Confident voice.
The other one grumbled:
“Hogen didn’t tell us anything about this…”
Velmorian tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk on his lips.
“Does he tell you everything?
If I’m here now, either you’ve been lied to...
Or he doesn’t trust you.
Which is it?”
The thug stood speechless for a moment.
Even the larger man stepped back slightly, reassessing the stranger before him.
Meanwhile, Garran stared wide-eyed, caught between confusion and relief.
He didn’t know what game this was — but he liked it.
Finally, the bigger man gave a slight shrug.
“Fine. If Hogen sent you, then it’s your mess now.
We’ll be waiting outside.”
His partner nodded, and both headed for the door.
Velmorian offered a slight nod in return — just enough to seem in control.
They didn’t question further; they just wanted the job done.
As the door closed behind them, only Velmorian and Garran remained.
Garran whispered, disbelief thick in his voice:
“Did Hogen really send you?”
Velmorian gave him a mocking smile.
“I didn’t realize gamblers were this gullible.”
Velmorian scanned the room quickly.
In the back, he spotted a small window.
Lifting the curtain slightly, he saw a narrow alley behind the house — quiet and empty.
“Move,” he whispered.
Garran hesitated, but when he saw the look in Velmorian’s eyes, he simply nodded.
They slipped out one after the other.
Outside, one of the thugs perked up, hearing a faint noise from inside.
“What the hell was that?”
He reached for the doorknob and opened it…
to find nothing.
The room was empty.
By then, Velmorian and Garran had already disappeared into the dark backstreets.
They ran.
Through twisting alleys, over slippery stones — breath ragged, hearts pounding.
When Garran realized they were heading for the edge of the city, he finally spoke:
“Did you really save me? Or do you just enjoy tricking people?”
Velmorian smiled.
“If you can tell the difference, you’ve gambled too much.”
Garran let out a strained chuckle, still visibly tense.
“Didn’t know I owed you a favor.”
Velmorian shrugged.
“Neither did I.”
The streets grew quieter.
Soon, they passed beyond the city’s outer walls, heading toward a lone shack on the horizon.
Dry grass whispered in the wind.
The wooden boards of the building creaked softly, weathered by time.
Inside, Velmorian tapped the wooden table with his fingers.
“We can stay here tonight.
The city’s too quiet, and we don’t know if they’re still after us.”
Garran sank into a chair, exhaling deeply.
“Can’t believe you actually saved me. I owe you more than I can say.”
Velmorian gave a faint smile.
“Might want to hold off on the gratitude.
We don’t know what tomorrow looks like yet.”
“True,” Garran nodded.
“But at least for now, we’re safe.”
Velmorian didn’t respond.
The shack was cold.
The wooden walls creaked gently in the wind.
Garran rubbed his hands together and glanced at Velmorian.
“Tell me something...
Why did you do it?
Why save me?”
Velmorian looked up at him for a moment.
Then, with a shrug:
“I don’t like Hogen.”
Garran raised a brow.
“Seriously?
Anyone who likes gold works for him.
Not liking him sounds like a luxury.”
Velmorian chuckled faintly.
“Sometimes luxury is necessary.”
Garran watched him with a thoughtful look.
“Then I guess I’ve earned a drink for surviving the night, haven’t I?”
He pulled a small flask from his belt.
Velmorian dipped his head slightly.
“By all means.”
Garran took a long swig.
The heat of the liquor softened the lines on his face.
“Want some?”
Velmorian shook his head.
“I’d rather not.”
Garran shrugged, took another drink, and slumped back into his chair.
His tension slowly faded.
Then Velmorian stepped forward.
He reached into his cloak and gripped the dagger.
For a brief moment, something shifted in the room.
The shadows quivered — like the corners of the room had drawn breath.
When he drew the blade, its black surface swallowed the light.
Shadows curled along its edge, yet the steel was solid — real.
In one swift motion, Velmorian plunged the dagger into Garran’s throat.
Garran’s eyes widened.
He tried to scream, but no sound came.
As soon as the blade touched him, the shadows stirred.
His body trembled.
His pupils dilated.
Only Velmorian knew what the dagger truly did.
This was no ordinary death.
Garran’s body convulsed, like something was being pulled from within.
Where the blade pierced, his form seemed to blur — as if melting into shadow.
For an instant, a whisper echoed through the room.
Then… silence.
When Velmorian withdrew the blade, Garran’s body slumped from the chair.
The flask rolled from his fingers, spilling its last drops across the wooden floor.
The dagger shimmered — cold and unreadable.
It looked untouched.
But Velmorian could feel it.
Something moved within the dark steel.
Then the whispers returned.
“Well done… keep going…”
“Didn’t think you had it in you…”
“This is only the beginning.”
They carved into his mind like knives.
But the true weight came not from the voices —
but from the memories.
The dagger showed him.
Suddenly, Velmorian’s mind was pulled into a dark spiral.
The world around him vanished — replaced by fragments of Garran’s past.
A woman screamed.
Her eyes wide with terror, shielding a small child behind her.
“Please—don’t! No more!” she begged.
In the corner stood Garran.
His face twisted with rage, a belt clenched in his fist.
The child’s sobs echoed like broken glass in Velmorian’s ears.
The scene shifted.
A table, scattered with playing cards and an empty coin pouch.
Across from Garran sat a man — one of Hogen’s enforcers.
“This is your last chance, Garran.
How are you going to pay?”
Garran’s forehead beaded with sweat.
“Just one more week… please...”
His voice was the hollow desperation of a drowning man.
Another shift.
A dim alleyway.
Garran gripped a woman’s wrist, dragging her toward the shadows.
Her face was pale with fear.
“Thought you could run with my coin?” he growled.
She replied with something, but Velmorian didn’t hear the words.
What he remembered was the slap.
And the way she fell.
Then — silence.
The memories vanished.
Velmorian stood once more in the shack.
Garran’s body lay still at his feet.
The guilt lifted.
He had seen the truth.
This man had earned his end.
The whispers faded, leaving behind a dense, unnatural stillness.
Velmorian looked down at the corpse.
His heartbeat had steadied, breath cold and controlled.
The first name had been crossed off the list.
But the weight of it… lingered.
He wiped the dagger on Garran’s sleeve.
There was no blood.
Only shadow — and silence.
Velmorian sat down briefly, eyes scanning the small, rotting cabin.
The fangs of winter clawed at the wooden walls, but he didn’t shiver.
Something inside him had changed.
Not just from death and return —
but from taking a life and feeling… nothing.
Or was it something?
That dull ache in his chest.
Not guilt. Not relief.
Something deeper.
A ripple.
He heard them again.
“More will come...”
“You’ve only tasted the beginning...”
“Each death brings truth...”
Velmorian stood and took a breath.
The parchment in his cloak pulsed faintly, as if sensing the change.
He didn’t yet know the next name.
But the first had been claimed.
And the path ahead…
was darker than anything behind.