Something was off.

  Not just the unconscious dwarf sprawled on the floor. Not just the tension lingering in the air like a coming storm.

  Manach had another tube running into his body, thick green liquid seeping through.

  I narrowed my eyes. “What is that?”

  Leliana met my gaze, unfazed. “Nutrition. His body needs it.”

  Her tone was casual, confident. Like she knew.

  I let it go. For now.

  “You came back quick,” she said, shifting her weight. “What happened?”

  I glanced at Leon. “He was successful. That means we take action tonight.”

  Leliana crossed her arms. “What’s the plan?”

  I turned to Leon. “Tell us about the place.”

  Leon adjusted Jorguh into a better position, then sat down, his expression unreadable. “It’s a lot,” he admitted. “For a single doctor to own a mansion this big? That’s unusual. And from what I saw, it’s heavily guarded.”

  Leliana frowned. “Arnell doesn’t own a mansion.” She pulled out a city map and spread it over the table. “Show me.”

  Leon studied it for a moment, then tapped a location.

  Leliana’s entire body stiffened.

  “…Can’t be,” she hissed.

  I frowned. “What is it?”

  “This is my father’s home. My ex-home.”

  Her words hit like a hammer.

  I leaned back. “So Arnell works for your father.” I exhaled, unsurprised. “Given what you’ve told me about him, this isn’t shocking.”

  Leliana’s hands clenched into fists. “It is shocking. It’s worse than I thought.”

  Leon held up a hand. “Calm down. This is actually good.”

  Leliana’s glare could have burned a hole through him. “How?”

  “You know the place better than anyone. You lived there. You can tell us the layout.”

  She hesitated, realization creeping in.

  I nodded. “I have an idea.”

  Leon leaned forward, intrigued. Leliana just looked worried.

  “What is it?” Leon asked.

  I glanced at Leliana. “Your father doesn’t know what I actually look like.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “…That’s true. But what good does that do us?”

  I outlined the plan. “Leon takes my armor. He and Jorguh take a long tour of the city—make themselves seen before ending up outside the mansion. Leliana, you take me in as your companion.”

  Leon’s eyes widened. “Me? Wear Coldian armor?”

  Leliana frowned. “Koch, this is a gamble. What if they do know what you look like?”

  I ignored the doubt in her voice and turned to Leon. “You’ll pretend to be me. I’ll take your staff—even if I can’t use it—and hide my sword inside your robes.” I turned back to Leliana. “We have to act now. If we wait, we’ll be the ones scrambling to figure out what’s happening next.”

  Leon smirked, crossing his arms. “If fate allows it, I will succeed.”

  Leliana exhaled through her nose, frustrated. “There are too many things that could go wrong.”

  I met her gaze. Steady. Unyielding. “You wanted to travel with me. No questions asked. No hesitation.” I gestured to Manach. “And let’s be honest—if we didn’t have a plan, he’d already be at the mansion alone.”

  Silence.

  She knew I was right.

  She hated it.

  But she nodded.

  “Everyone. Get ready.”

  They moved without question.

  Leon adjusted his grip on Jorguh’s unconscious form. “What about Manach?”

  I smiled. “Already handled.”

  Leliana narrowed her eyes. “What did you do?”

  “It doesn’t matter. He’ll be safe.”

  They accepted that.

  What I actually did was leave a vial of Sheer Cold—just slightly open. Not enough to spill, but enough that if anyone moved Manach, the vial would crack, releasing its deadly frost. A crude trap. But it would work if it had to.

  As the others prepared, Leon slung my armor over his back, along with Jorguh. He was now wearing my identity, my armor, my helmet. I felt exposed.

  I pulled his robes tighter around me. The thick fabric concealed most of my features, but the biggest tell—my ears—had to be completely hidden. The guards at the Chancellor’s estate might not know my face, but if they saw those, the whole plan was done.

  Chancellor.

  I frowned.

  Leliana never told me his name.

  By the time the last light of day faded, Leon and Jorguh were already in motion. Leliana approached, dressed simply but practically—leather, woven boots, and a soft linen shirt. She looked nothing like a noble’s daughter.

  “You ready, K… Leon?” she teased.

  I smirked. “If fate allows it.”

  We moved through the city.

  No sneers. No curses spat in my direction.

  People greeted me.

  It was strange. In this skin, in this disguise, I was treated with respect. The irony sat heavy in my gut.

  I didn’t speak much on the way. My mind was elsewhere.

  Athion’s words lingered, circling like vultures. Konneus.

  I couldn’t shake it.

  Why had he given me that name? How did he know it?

  There were no answers. Not yet. But the question gnawed at me, deep and primal.

  By the time I surfaced from my thoughts, we were there.

  Leliana’s face was tight, lips pressed together in barely concealed worry.

  I said nothing.

  The mansion loomed ahead—four stories of power and wealth.

  The massive garden stretched out before it, littered with fruit trees, thick clusters of dates swaying gently in the night breeze. The path curved around a grand fountain—a marble dolphin rearing upside down, water spewing from its mouth.

  But none of that mattered.

  The guards did.

  Not like the ones near Parliament. Those had been well-equipped but green, lacking real training.

  These were different.

  Well-armed. Well-trained. Mercenaries.

  Private security meant numbers. Meant some of them would be experienced killers.

  I wasn’t fully healed. And if this went sideways…

  “Halt.”

  A guard stepped forward.

  The air had weight. Thick with tension, thick with anticipation. I could feel the guard’s gaze before I even met it, his eyes combing through every movement, every subtle shift in posture. He reminded me of… me. A soldier, a professional, trained to see the smallest mistake, to wait for the moment hesitation revealed intent. He was disciplined. Dangerous. A man who could read the unspoken language of a lie.

  Beside me, Leliana tensed. Her muscles went rigid, her breath shallow. Fear radiated from her in waves. The guard’s expression remained carved from stone.

  “This is private property,” he said, his tone polite but firm. “You are not permitted to linger here. Move along.”

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  “I apologize if we have intruded,” I said, my voice a careful balance of delicacy and formality. The kind of voice that belonged in noble halls, not battlefields. I had no idea if I sounded convincing.

  “Oh? Really?” The guard let the question hang in the air.

  “Yes.” Leliana straightened, a shift overtaking her—fear melting into something refined and imperious. A woman who knew power, who had been raised to command it. “I am Leliana Anckeryouth, daughter of Chancellor Liam. This is my companion, Leon.”

  Liam. A simple, forgettable name for a man who ruled an empire from the shadows. I had expected something grander, something that carried weight. But power often hid behind the mundane.

  The guard studied her, unmoving. “How do I know you are telling the truth?”

  Leliana said nothing. Instead, she extended her arm, revealing a marking on her wrist—a bird drinking from a fountain. Not ink, not a brand. A stamp of lineage. Of belonging.

  The guard’s posture shifted. Recognition flickered in his eyes. “Of course. Miss Leliana. You are free to go.”

  She stepped forward. I moved to follow, but his arm shot out, blocking my path.

  “Not you,” he hissed.

  Leliana turned, eyes narrowing. “What is the meaning of this?”

  “Your father’s orders.” The guard’s lips curled into a smirk.

  Then he moved.

  His weight shifted, right foot grinding against the stone. His arm coiled, his body turning—a backhanded strike aimed at Leliana’s skull, the plate of his gauntlet gleaming in the dim light. He intended to knock her out cold, drop her in a heap before she even registered the blow. But I had already seen it, already traced the path of his attack in my mind.

  He never made it.

  I stepped into him, used his own motion against him. My fingers closed around the hilt of his sword, drawing it from its sheath in one fluid motion. He was still turning when the steel met his throat.

  A sharp, wet gasp. A gurgle. Blood bubbled at his lips as his hands clawed at the wound, his mind catching up to the reality of what had happened. I let him linger for a second, let him grasp that last moment of understanding before I drove the blade between his eyes.

  The thud of his body hitting the ground was quiet. The pool of blood that spread beneath him would not be.

  Leliana’s face was pale, eyes locked on the corpse. Fear, disbelief, shock—it was all there. But when I looked at her, really looked, she swallowed it down. And nodded.

  Her first taste of a moment like this. Of violence without ceremony. Of death by the hand of a Coldian.

  “This is going to be messy,” I murmured.

  “The plan is already ruined,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “We should leave before the other guards—”

  “No.” I cut her off, voice steel. “You hide. I’ll handle this.”

  She hesitated. “There are too many. You’re injured.”

  “I don’t care.” And I didn’t. I had come too far. If I died here, then so be it. But I would not turn away. Not now.

  Leliana bit her lip, then nodded. “What do you need me to do?”

  I handed her the staff. “Find Jorguh and Leon. Tell Leon to bring my armor to the front after I clear the way.”

  She took the staff, eyes searching mine for hesitation. She found none. Without another word, she turned and ran into the night.

  I exhaled slowly, adjusting my grip on the stolen sword. My own Coldian blade hummed at my side.

  Then, without looking back, I started my march toward the mansion.

  I knew everything had gone sideways. This was no longer a covert operation—it was a siege. A siege where we were outnumbered, outgeared, and heading into unknown territory. Manach would probably grin at that, say he liked those odds. I wasn’t smiling. I was composed. Alone.

  Every step I took was measured, not with fear, but with purpose. I scanned the courtyard, soaking in the layout like a hunter studying his terrain. Three men patrolled the garden—one, older with a long, grease-slick beard, leaned against a tree puffing a fat cigar, his eyes lost in the stars. The other two dragged their feet in a sluggish patrol, worn down by monotony.

  Up top, two archers paced the mansion’s roof, slow and methodical, their bows resting casually—but close enough. At the mansion steps, four more guards lounged in partial armor, one of them distinct, sitting tall and composed. The captain, no doubt. His gear was cleaner. His stare sharper.

  I leaned behind a tree, letting the darkness hug me, then moved low through the bushes toward the bearded guard. He looked relaxed, exposed. I could’ve slit his throat, but my shoulder still throbbed from the last fight—I couldn’t risk a struggle if something went wrong.

  Instead, I drove the stolen blade deep into his back, just under the ribs. He squealed, tried to twist around, but his knees gave out before he could scream. His body hit the dirt with a soft thump, blood soaking into the grass.

  “INTRUDERS!” one of the other guards yelled. The echo of his voice shattered the stillness.

  Game on.

  The archers on the roof scrambled. I caught movement out of the corner of my eye—bowstrings drawn. The guards at the mansion steps were already on their feet, forming a defensive line like they’d trained for this moment.

  I backed into the trees, drawing them in. I needed them closer. Needed them tired. Sloppy. Predictable.

  They split up—smart. They moved like men who knew a little too much to be called amateurs. Each circled around, trying to pincer me. I didn’t have time to think. Only to act.

  I feinted left, then sprinted at the guard on that side. He saw it coming, raised his greatsword for a wide arc. Big mistake.

  I stopped.

  His blade hissed through the air where I would’ve been—if I were predictable.

  He was wide open. I lunged in, slashing his raised arm with the stolen sword, then followed through with my Coldian blade—a full-bodied swing from right to left that opened him shoulder to hip. He folded with a gurgling grunt.

  The second guard charged. Sword and shield. Tactical, aggressive.

  I threw the stolen sword. It clanged off his shield harmlessly, but it did what I needed—his focus shifted. That moment of distraction was enough. I rushed him, fast and low.

  He tried to raise the shield, too late. We were already chest to chest. His sword came down hard, sparks flying as it met my Coldian blade in a vicious parry. My shoulder screamed from the shock, but I didn’t let go.

  He shoved forward with the shield to throw me off, but I read it. I pivoted back just in time, letting the weight of his push pass me. He stepped into it, off balance, vulnerable.

  His next move was desperation—a wide horizontal slash. Wrong again.

  I drove my blade straight into his gut, angled upward. His breath caught in his throat. I twisted the blade once, then yanked it free and slashed his neck to finish it.

  The body collapsed. Two down.

  I picked up the dead man’s shield and turned toward the mansion. Arrows were already thudding into nearby trees. I hadn’t noticed them mid-fight—adrenaline did that. But they were definitely aiming for me now.

  I tightened my grip on the shield and took a breath.

  This was no longer infiltration.

  This was war.

  There were four left at the door, standing like iron sentinels in tight formation. One of them bore the markings of rank—probably the captain. Behind them, up on the roof, two bowmen had already loosed a handful of arrows in my direction, though none had found flesh. They weren’t bad shots. Just rushed. Uncoordinated.

  I couldn't rush this. Not with my shoulder screaming like it had glass buried inside. But I had something they didn’t know about—Coldian steel, and the runes burned into it like fury etched in metal.

  I raised the shield high, stepping cautiously through the dark underbrush until I found a spot where I could just peek through the tree line. Arrows zipped past—one cracked against the bark behind me, another sank into the dirt at my boots. Not a single one kissed steel or skin. Luck? No. Timing. Instinct.

  I found them with my gaze—the rooftop archers. One of them was light on arrows, I could see it in his frantic movements. He leaned toward his partner, gesturing, talking, maybe demanding another quiver.

  That was my opening.

  With a grunt, I activated the Coldian runes on my blade. They flared briefly—a dull blue shimmer like frost forming on steel. I slashed the air, horizontal and precise.

  The cold-wave cut through the night like a spirit’s scream.

  It struck them mid-conversation—one archer howled as his arm was severed clean from the shoulder, blood geysering into the wind. The other didn’t even scream. His face simply ceased to exist in its former shape, caved in by the kinetic energy of the slash.

  I lowered my blade and nearly collapsed. My shoulder flared, a searing pain that stole the breath from my lungs. I staggered behind a thicker tree trunk and clenched my jaw, waiting for the pulsing ache to dull into something bearable.

  The guards had seen. Or maybe just the captain. Either way, I saw the shift in their posture. They left their tight formation and began advancing, quick and confident. There was distance between us, but not enough. And I wasn’t sure I had enough left in me to take on four men straight.

  So I vanished into the trees again.

  The darkness was my ally. I moved quiet, low, careful not to snap a branch or scuff too hard on stone. My eyes adjusted fast—faster than theirs. Humans, all of them. I could tell by the way they moved, the way they looked into shadows instead of through them.

  One of them carried a spear, the others bore sword and shield. They fanned out just enough to stay close but not clump. Professional spacing. Discipline. That would make this harder.

  Then I saw it—a low tree with a thick, sagging branch. Just enough of a natural trap if used well.

  I crept to the trunk and pulled the branch back with all the strength I could muster. It groaned under the tension. A risky move, loud, but the underbrush and night gave me cover. They’d hear the sound, but not understand it.

  As two of them came close, too close, I let it go.

  The branch snapped forward with vicious speed, catching the spearman dead in the chest. The thud knocked the air out of him and dropped him flat, coughing blood. The second guard turned instinctively—too late.

  I was already moving. I stepped out of the dark and drove my blade straight through his open mouth. The blade punched out the back of his skull. He died on his feet before slumping.

  The spearman wheezed and rolled, trying to get up, his weapon lost in the dirt. I didn’t wait. I moved to his side, watching him try to reach for the spear like it would save him.

  I slashed him across the belly, deep enough to spill his innards into the grass. He grunted, still alive—barely. I silenced him with a final thrust through the forehead.

  No hesitation.

  The last two guards shouted, closing in fast. I didn't have time to clean my blade.

  So I took the spear instead.

  Coldian training demanded we learn all weapons. Even the ones we hated.

  I stepped out, braced, and hurled the spear into the darkness—high and hard.

  I didn’t see the hit. Just heard it. A ragged cry of pain followed by a sharp curse.

  I ducked back into the trees. Took my Coldian blade in hand. Moved slow, crouched.

  Peering through the bushes, I spotted them—one dragging the other back toward the mansion. The spear had landed, pinning his leg like a nailed-down plank. The blood trailed behind them like a red flag waving in surrender.

  I didn’t follow. Not yet.

  I waited.

  Let them know I was still out here.

  Let them fear the dark.

  I trusted myself—more than the pain, more than the odds—and I prayed my shoulder could hold together for just one more strike.

  The three of them clustered near the captain now, close enough that their silhouettes bled into one. He barked orders in a language I didn’t recognize—jagged and sharp, filled with guttural edges and low resonance. It wasn’t Common. It wasn’t Elvish. Not even Reaper tongue. Something older. Maybe darker.

  Didn’t matter.

  I wiped the blood from my blade against the grass and stood. My legs felt steady enough. That would have to do. The Coldian runes on my weapon hummed faintly, almost eagerly, as I called them to life once again. Their glow painted pale lines on the steel—like frost forming on a windowpane.

  I slashed the air.

  The coldian strike ripped through the night like an invisible blade, fast and precise. The two nearest guards were aligned perfectly—one standing, the other still dragging himself by his arms.

  The slash hit the helper first, slicing through the base of his spine with enough force to drop him instantly. The crack of his back snapping echoed across the courtyard, followed by the wet slap of his body collapsing into bloodied soil.

  His wounded comrade screamed again—raw, ragged agony. Still alive. Still clinging.

  Resilient bastard.

  The guard captain hadn’t moved.

  The strike had stopped just short of him, its momentum absorbed by the broken men in front. He gestured down at the survivor—something subtle, something commanding. They exchanged words too low to hear, but the weight behind them was clear.

  Then he turned his eyes toward the tree line.

  Toward me.

  I didn’t know if he could see me. Couldn’t tell if the darkness gave me cover or if his eyes were forged in it. But I felt his gaze. Like cold steel pressing into my skull.

  The numbness in my shoulder spread down into the arm. My fingers wouldn’t grip. The shield slipped from my grasp and dropped with a dull thunk into the dirt. The limb was dead weight now. Gone. I couldn’t rely on it anymore.

  The mansion doors creaked open behind him. The captain turned, pulled the wounded man in with him, and disappeared.

  The doors shut.

  And just like that—the courtyard was empty.

  I backed away, crouched, and let myself drop against the base of a thick trunk. Every breath felt like it scraped against bone. I couldn’t relax. Couldn’t trust it. There were supposed to be more of them. Much more.

  Where the hell were they?

  I watched the shadows. Waited.

  Then I heard it—soft at first. A crackle. Twigs snapping under careful boots. Leaves brushing against armor.

  I turned, hand on my blade.

  Jorguh stepped into view.

  He looked like a walking battering ram—armor gleaming faintly, warhammer resting heavy across his back, eyes scanning for danger like he wanted something to hit.

  Leon followed, quiet and concerned, his gaze locked on mine with a kind of unspoken urgency. He carried something bundled in his arms—my armor.

  Bless him.

  And then Leliana. She moved behind them, shoulders drawn tight, her expression pale and frightened. But she was here. That mattered more than anything else.

  I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding.

  War was coming. Real war. But now I wasn’t walking into it alone.