Outside, the night was still, and the air felt dense, cloaking the low quarter in an uneasy silence. But in the dark a presence lurked.

  The tch on his door gave a faint, nearly imperceptible click, easing open with practiced silence. Shadows pooled on the floor as three figures slipped inside, their movements controlled, deadly. Grey Cloaks, unmistakable in their grim uniforms, melded into the room’s darkness, their eyes fixed on Kyrell’s sleeping form.

  One man stepped forward, motioning to his comrades with a hand signal, wordless and precise. Slowly, he raised his dagger, its edge glinting coldly in the fractured moonlight.

  And then, a shiver – a ripple of awareness.

  Kyrell stirred, some primal instinct pulling him out of sleep. He didn’t open his eyes but his senses sharpened. His heart began to beat faster, his skin prickling, as if touched by a chill wind. And then, like a shadow creeping into his mind, a voice – hissing, with a hint twisted exhiration.

  “Cut them!”

  His eyes snapped open, and time seemed to stretch, his mind catching up with the threat surrounding him. The Grey Cloaks, their faces twisted into grim smiles, closed in, their weapons ready.

  He had no time to think.

  With a quick twist, he rolled off the bed, feeling a surge of cold energy ignite within him, like an unfamiliar fme, heightening his senses. The familiar weight of the stone against his chest grounded him, a strange calm washing over him as he assessed the danger.

  The nearest Grey Cloak lunged, his bde slicing through the air with practiced precision. Kyrell sidestepped, reaching for the dagger under his pillow. The stone’s touch against his skin fred warm, and suddenly his movements felt unnaturally fluid, swift. He sshed outward, his bde meeting flesh, the bde sliced across his abdomen, leaving a thin crimson line that quickly widened as blood welled up, spilling over in thick dark rivulets. His skin parted like torn fabric, exposing glistening, slick muscle beneath. The man, instinctively clutched his hands at the wound, but it was too te. Warm blood seeped through his fingers, coating them in sticky copper-scented slickness.

  The room bursts into chaos. The other Grey Cloaks charged; their eyes dark with murderous intent. Kyrell ducked and twisted, his instincts sharper, faster than he had ever known. He barely recognized his own strength, his limbs moving with a speed and precision that felt foreign, almost unnatural. His dagger found its mark again, a sudden, efficient stab that sent another assaint stumbling back.

  Amidst the csh, he spotted a fourth figure hovering in the doorway. Taren, his face a mask of fear and guilt, eyes wide as he watched the scene unfold. The pieces clicked into pce, and anger seared through Kyrell.

  Betrayed. For a fistful of coins, for a favour from the Grey Cloaks.

  “You made a mistake,” Kyrell growled, his voice carrying over the sound of the fight, dark and chilling.

  Taren faltered, but the remaining Grey Cloaks pressed forward, weapons drawn. In that instant, Kyrell felt a pull deep within him, something cold and commanding, like the whisper of steel drawn in silence. The flicker of power he had felt earlier surged through him, coursing into his limbs.

  He twisted around, bringing his dagger up to meet his attacker’s sword. The bde gnced off with a metallic ring, and in one smooth motion, Kyrell brought his weapon to the attacker’s neck. He looked up to meet Taren’s eyes. While holding eye contact, he quickly and forcefully moved his bde through the Grey Cloak’s flesh, muscle, and bone with sickening ease. In one motion he separated head from torso. It fell with a dull thud, eyes wide open, frozen in an expression of shock. Blood erupted from the exposed neck like a geyser, pulsing with each beat of the heart, spttering thick and hot across the ground in a widening pool.

  The st of the Grey Cloaks charged, eyes wide as his friend’s severed head struck the floorboards. Kyrell turned, catching sight of him mid-swing, dagger poised to strike above the colrbone. With a swift twist, Kyrell shifted his bde to a reverse grip, sidestepping the attack. In a blur of motion, he drove his dagger into the man’s lower abdomen, sinking it deep. His free hand seized the assaint’s wrist, stopping the death blow in its tracks, and with a powerful heave, Kyrell hurled him over his shoulder. As the body arced through the air, Kyrell ripped his bde upward, carving a crimson path from abdomen to chin, splintering bone with his newfound strength. The body hit the floorboards, lifeless, as blood pooled around it, painting the room deep red.

  When he looked up, Taren was frozen, caught between fear and indecision, his back pressed to the door as if he could melt into it. Kyrell’s gaze hardened, the weight of betrayal pressing down on him. Taren’s lips moved, stammering excuses that didn’t reach Kyrell’s ears.

  A low, insidious whisper seeped into Kyrell’s mind, curling around his thoughts like smoke. “Do it!” the voice urged; a rasping growl ced with twisted pleasure. It pulsed in his head, each word like cws scraping down his spine, sending an icy thrill through him. “End him! Let it spill. Let him feel the depths of your wrath.”

  Kyrell’s breathing quickened as he felt his grip tighten, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. The voice grew louder, more demanding, sinking deep into his bones, until he couldn’t tell where its desires ended and his own began. His vision blurred, narrowing to Taren standing before him, vulnerable, exposed.

  With a slow, almost reluctant exhale, he stopped resisting, letting ‘it’ guide him.

  Taren’s eyes widened, his voice trembling.

  “K-Kyrell… please… I didn’t… They… they forced me – “

  With a sudden jerk, Taren bolted for the door, but Kyrell moved faster, his hand reaching out. In a single, fluid motion, he drove the dagger forward. Taren stumbled, his face twisted in pain and terror, his eyes locked onto Kyrell’s with a pleading expression.

  He broke down drawing short and ft breaths, coughing blood, his life fading from his eyes.

  Kyrell stumbled back, breath ragged, heart racing. The room fell silent, the weight of his actions settling like a shroud around him. He felt the adrenaline leave his veins. His knees gave out and he slumped on the ground, shivering like the temperature reached freezing points. Guilt coiled within him, sharp and unforgiving, his mind repying the moment, the hollow look in Taren’s eyes. It gnawed at him, the realization of what he had done crashing over him in waves.

  “They were not more than dogs” the voice said, amused, gripping his mind with invisible hands. “Power does what it must to survive. Remember that.”

  The words reached deep within him, soothing the raw ache of guilt. Slowly, he nodded, letting the stone’s presence seep into his mind, filling the emptiness with a strange, comforting warmth.

  You did what you had to do, he told himself, the stone’s energy pulsing in time with his heartbeat. With one st gnce at the carnage, he turned and slipped out of the room vanishing into the safety of the night’s shadows.

  As he moved through the alleys, his steps guided by instinct and the stone’s steady, dark whisper, he felt a strange certainty solidify within him. This was a path he had chosen, a path he would walk without apology. For the first time he truly understood – power didn’t seek forgiveness.

  And neither would he.

  The moon hovered high, its pale light casting silver streaks across Makar’s crooked rooftops. Kyrell walked with purpose, his mind sharp, his stride unhurried as if the blood on his clothes were nothing more than spilled wine. Any remnant of doubt had dissolved, leaving him clear-headed, focused. The stone’s presence on his chest was steady, its weight an almost comforting reminder of what he was capable of.

  A wry smile flickered across his lips. First, new clothes.

  The alleys he wound through were empty, except for the occasional stray cat slinking into shadows, or a te wanderer hurrying home. He passed by dim shops and shuttered stalls, finally stopping near a small, quiet corner where a lone cart sat, half covered by a tarp. Beneath it hung garments left unattended, likely forgotten by some vendor in the dead of night.

  Kyrell’s gaze fell on a dark, hooded robe and thin leather boots, carefully crafted yet unobtrusive – perfect for his purposes. He cast a quick gnce down the alley and then slipped the clothing out from the cart. In moments, he had repced his bloodstained rags with the smooth fabric, the hood draping over his face, the leather boots light on his feet.

  Dressed for the shadows, he felt as if he could merge into the night itself. Satisfied, he pulled the hood down lower, keeping his face concealed, and set his sights on his next destination: Bram’s home. The merchant had answers he needed, whether he offered them willingly or not.

  Bram’s home y near the wealthier section of the district, nestled away from the more chaotic parts of the city. The house was modest but carefully fortified. Two guards stood by the gate, their stance rexed yet alert, their gazes sweeping the street. But they saw nothing – not Kyrell, who blended effortlessly into the darkness a few paces away, watching.

  The voice, steady and dark, pulsed in his mind. “Become the shadow itself, Kyrell. Move as if you were invisible.”

  The words were like an invocation, urging him forward, and he obeyed without question. His form seemed to slip further into the night’s embrace, a quiet calm settling over him as he stepped toward the wall and found himself passing unseen, the guards’ eyes sliding over him as if he were nothing but mist.

  Each step was silent, each movement fluid, and as he approached a window on the houses lower floor, he found it cracked open. With a light touch, he pushed it just wide enough to slip inside, nding in the dimly lit hallway with hardly a sound.

  The merchant’s home was quiet, the candles in the halls flickering softly as he moved deeper into the house. He passed by closed doors and empty rooms, the muted patter of a guard’s footsteps echoing faintly down the corridor. Every flickering shadow felt like a familiar guide, each step drawing him closer to his target.

  Finally, he reached a door near the back of the house. Behind it, he could hear the slow, steady breathing of a man fast asleep. Without hesitation, Kyrell turned the handle, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him.

  Bram y on his bed, a mound of thick bnkets tangled around him, his face rexed in sleep. Kyrell took a moment to study him, his eyes tracing the sharp lines of the merchant’s face. Unaware of the cloaked figure that had entered his room.

  “Bram,” he murmured, his voice low but piercing.

  The merchant startled awake, his eyes flying open, fear immediately filling them as he took in the hooded figure looming over his bed. He scrambled back, his gaze darting around the room as if searching for an escape.

  “Who… who are you?” he stammered; his voice choked with terror.

  Kyrell took a step closer, his voice cold and calm. “The thief you didn’t catch. But now I might be your death. You had something valuable once. A stone. I need to know where it came from.”

  Bram’s eyes widened, his mouth opening as if to argue, but then his gaze fell on the faint shape of the stone pressing against Kyrell’s chest. He swallowed, his face going pale, his eyes filled with dawning horror.

  “That stone…” he whispered. “I… I didn’t know… I swear I didn’t…”

  “Then start expining what you do know.” Kyrell’s voice cut through the room, calm but filled with menace. “Now.”

  Bram looked away, hands trembling, his face drawn. “It… it was part of a relic. They say it was shattered, that pieces where hidden away so its power would never… never be unleashed. That was just the story I heard. I didn’t think…”

  His voice wavered, his fear like a bitter tang in the air.

  “If you are trying to lie to me…” Kyrell pressed, though a part of him was already starting to sense the truth of Bram’s words.

  Bram swallowed, his voice thin and uncertain. “It’s…its only legends, things merchants say to drive up value. But there are those who… collect these things. Those who would pay a fortune to even touch it.” He licked his lips nervously. “I never thought someone would steal it.”

  Kyrell’s eyes narrowed, his gaze cold and unyielding. The words felt surreal, like fragments of a truth too rge to comprehend. Yet the weight of the stone against his chest, the steady pulse of something alive within, confirmed what Bram could not.

  “He speaks in shadows, Kyrell. Only half-truths.” The whisper in his mind coiled around him, urging him to push harder. “The stone’s power is beyond what he understands. But it is yours, yours to wield.”

  The stone pulsed again, a deep throb that spread through him, and for a moment, he felt a strange thrill – the sensation of strength, of limitless potential waiting just beyond his grasp. Bram knew nothing of that power, nothing of the potential in the stone’s depths.

  The merchant’s voice quivered, snapping Kyrell back into the present. “Please… I didn’t know. I didn’t mean… if you take it away, I’ll forget about it, I swear.”

  “Consider yourself lucky you didn’t know more,” Kyrell said, his voice sharp, the cold menace lingering as he watched Bram squirm, the man’s face pale in the dim light. “For your sake, I suggest you keep it that way.”

  Without another word, Kyrell turned and slipped out of the room, leaving the merchant gasping, his fear a faint echo in the silent halls.

  Moving swiftly through the shadows, Kyrell reached the window, slipping out and nding softly on the stone streets below. The world was silent as he moved away, his mind humming with dark possibilities, each step resonating with a new sense of purpose.

  As he slipped back into the alleys, the stone pulsed again, warm against his chest, and the whisper in his mind returned, a soft, commanding murmur.

  “You are learning, Kyrell. There is more for you to understand. This power is only beginning to awaken.”

  A thrill of excitement coursed through him, mingling with the chill of the night air. The stone was his now, its mystery a part of him, waiting to be unlocked. As he walked deeper into the darkness, he felt the city opening before him, vast and limitless, like a path waiting to be cimed.