Lira sat at her desk with her hands steepled beneath her chin, her sharp green eyes scanning the reports scattered across the polished surface. Each parchment offered fragments of a larger puzzle, one she was determined to solve before it unraveled into chaos in the city.
Her focus lingered on a specific report; a short but troubling note describing unusual activity near the Ravens' Nest, one of the House of Pearl's assets. It had gone silent two nights ago after the report was received. No one had checked in since, and none of her messengers had returned. It wasn't just concerning; it was a glaring sign that Rorik's gang had shifted from provocations to open hostility.
Other reports detailed disruptions in the western district: shipments delayed or stolen, whispers of rebuffed bribes. Lira's fingers tapped lightly against the desk, the rhythm a stark contrast to her otherwise composed demeanor. Maze was a city of players and games, but Rorik was playing with fire, testing her patience and the House's reach.
A sharp knock at the door broke her concentration It was firm, controlled; Gallen's signature style. She straightened, her hands falling to rest lightly on the desk. "Come in." she called.
The door opened, and Gallen stepped inside. His presence was as steadying as ever, broad-shouldered and imposing; his grizzled face marked with the experience of a life lived on the edge of danger. He closed the door behind him with deliberate care; his expression as serious as hers.
"You've been at it all night, haven't you?" he commented, his deep voice tinged with concern as he closed the door behind him.
"Sleep isn't a priority right now," Lira replied, gesturing to the array of reports in front of her. "The Ravens' Nest has gone dark, and shipments to our allies have been intercepted. This isn't random; it's calculated."
Gallen moved closer, his eyes sweeping over the reports. He picked one up, the paper creasing slightly where his fingers gripped it. His mouth slowly downturned to a frown as he read the brief account of the missing messengers. "Two days of silence?" he questioned.
"Two days," Lira confirmed. "And we both know what that likely means."
His jaw tightened as he set the parchment down. "If Rorik's crew has moved on the Nest, they're not just probing anymore. They're making their play."
Lira nodded, her fingers curling slightly against the desk's edge. "We can't let it stand. But I won't send anyone without a plan. The Nest may be compromised, or worse. Whatever's happening, we need answers; and we need to act without drawing attention."
Gallen leaned back slightly, crossing his arms over his chest. "I can take a team to check it out. Quietly. If Rorik's men are involved, we'll deal with it."
"Who would you take?" Lira queried, her tone sharp and direct.
Gallen's response came without hesitation. "A couple of the lads from Greg's crew at the Black Boar. Greg owes us a favor; and his men are solid, discreet, capable, and not directly tied to the House. If things get messy, I won't worry about leaving their bodies." With an after thought he added, "Vince can come as well."
Lira considered this, her fingers tracing the edge of a nearby report. The Black Boar and its owner, Greg, had been an unlikely but reliable ally over the years. Greg's men weren't loyal to the House, but they respected its influence and had a knack for handling problems with minimal fuss.
"And you'd go yourself?" she inquired, arching an eyebrow.
Gallen nodded firmly. "I wouldn't trust this to anyone else. If the Nest is full of rats, we'll need someone who can think on their feet and deal with it. Besides, I don't want to pull too many of our own people off their duties here. Security at the Pearl must stay tight, especially if Rorik's pushing this hard."
Lira leaned back in her chair; her gaze steady as she studied him. She trusted Gallen implicitly: his instincts, his ability to handle dangerous situations. Though, the risks were undeniable, and sending him away, even briefly, left the Pearl more vulnerable. She needed more men, but that would draw the eyes of the city lord.
"You're right," she said finally. "We can't afford to spread ourselves too thinly, not now. Greg's men are a good choice, and having you lead the team will ensure things are handled properly. But I need more than just confirmation of what's happening. If the Nest is lost, I want to know how far Rorik's reach extends; and what he's planning next."
Gallen nodded. "We'll bring back answers. And if Rorik's crew is involved, we'll make sure they regret it for the rest of their short lives."
Lira allowed a faint smile to touch her lips, it even reached her eyes. "I expected nothing less. Be careful, Gallen. Rorik's playing a larger game, and I don't want you walking into a trap."
"You know me," he said with a slight smirk, "I don't walk into traps. . . I spring them."
Despite herself, Lira let out a soft chuckle, the tension in the room easing slightly. "Just make sure you're the one walking out."
Gallen inclined his head, his smirk fading as his expression grew serious once more. "We'll leave at first light. I'll brief Greg's men and make sure they're ready. This stays quiet; no one outside the team knows what we are doing."
"Good," Lira said, her tone returning to its sharp precision. "And Gallen, if there's even a hint of trouble that you can't handle, pull back. The Nest is important, but not at the cost of your lives."
"As you command," he replied, his voice firm with the weight of his promise.
He turned to leave, his heavy boots echoing softly against the wooden floor. At the door, he paused, glancing back at her. "I have a bad feeling about this, but we will be ready. Rorik might think he can take it, but he doesn't know what he's up against."
Lira's expression softened, her steely resolve tempered by his remark. "Let's make sure he learns."
As the door closed behind him, Lira exhaled slowly, her gaze drifting back to the reports on her desk. The decision to send Gallen gnawed at her—his absence would leave the Pearl's defenses weakened, even with his carefully chosen replacements. But she knew it was the right call. Gallen's experience, combined with Greg's men, gave them the best chance of handling the situation without exposing the House to further risk.
She reached for her quill, dipping it into the inkpot with precision. Her mind raced as she drafted a note to Greg, formalizing her request for his men's support. The words came easily, but the weight of the task ahead lingered.
Maze was a brutal city, and the House of Pearl stood as a fragile boat in its depths. To protect it, Lira knew she would have to keep playing the game; and play it better than anyone else.
With the letter finished, she set the quill down and folded her hands once more, staring at the parchment with a quiet intensity. Whatever Rorik was planning, whatever allies he thought would shield him, she would find a way to unravel it. And when the time came, she would remind him why the House of Pearl was not to be underestimated. She quickly attached the letter to a messenger bird by the window and released it into the night.
The pale light of dawn crept across the House of Pearl's courtyard as Vince adjusted his coat and glanced around, the faint morning chill biting at his skin. The House was quiet at this hour, its usual bustle replaced with the subdued hum of a city not yet fully awake. He hadn't expected to be summoned so early, but when Gallen came knocking, there wasn't much time for questions. The sense of urgency in the older man's tone had been unmistakable.
Now, Vince stood waiting just outside the back entrance, his hands tucked into his pockets to keep them warm. He was alert, his gaze shifting occasionally toward the streets beyond the gate, listening for footsteps. Gallen had told him to be ready, but not what to expect.
"Always early. Good," Gallen's familiar, gravelly voice sounded from behind.
Vince turned to see the older man striding out of the House, his boots crunching lightly on the gravel path. He was dressed for business, his reinforced leather coat hung heavily on his shoulders, and his sword was belted securely at his side. Behind him trailed two men Vince didn't recognize, both burly and rugged, their demeanor carrying a no-nonsense air.
"What are we doing?" Vince asked, nodding toward the strangers.
"Greg's men," Gallen said, gesturing toward the two men next to him. "This is Barrett and Kael. They've done this kind of work before." Barrett, the taller of the two, offered Vince a curt nod. His face was lined with scars, his expression calm but unreadable. Kael, stockier than his counterpart with a neatly trimmed beard, gave a faint smirk. "Hope you can keep up, kid."
Vince grimaced, straightening his posture. "I'll manage."
"You'll do more than manage," Gallen said sharply, stepping closer to Vince. In his hand, he held something wrapped in dark cloth. "This isn't just a stroll through the market. You'll need this."
He unwrapped the bundle with deliberate care, revealing a sleek, polished blade: a real sword. The steel gleamed faintly in the low light, its edge razor-sharp. The hilt was simple but sturdy, wrapped in dark leather that felt solid in Vince's grip.
Vince stared at the weapon, feeling its weight in his hands. This wasn't a training blade, dulled for practice. This was real, deadly. His throat tightened slightly, but he nodded, steadying himself.
"Not just for show," Gallen said, his tone firm. "You've trained for this. You know what to do if it comes to it. Keep it close, understand?"
"Yes," Vince said, his voice steady despite the unease swirling in his chest.
Gallen seemed satisfied, giving him a brief pat on the shoulder before turning to the others. "Alright, listen up. We're heading to the Ravens' Nest. keep quiet, stay sharp, and keep your eyes peeled. If we run into trouble, we handle it fast and clean. Everyone clear?"
A round of nods followed, and without another word, Gallen motioned for the group to follow him.
The early morning streets of the Red Light District were subdued but far from deserted. As the group moved through narrow alleys and past shuttered establishments, Vince took in the stark contrast of the area in these quiet hours. Gone were the vibrant lights and bustling crowds of the evening; now, the district felt like a shadow of itself: its charm replaced by a gritty, muted stillness.
They kept to the edges of the streets, sneaking through alleyways when they could. Gallen led the way with practiced ease, his movements purposeful and quiet. Barrett and Kael flanked the group, their eyes scanning the surroundings with wariness. Vince stayed close, gripping the hilt of his new sword tightly under his coat, his senses on high alert.
Occasionally, figures emerged from doorways or slipped between alleys, a mix of weary workers heading home and opportunistic types watching from the shadows. Vince caught the glint of a knife in one man's hand as he leaned against a wall, but the stranger's gaze shifted elsewhere when he saw the group and the weapons they carried.
"Keep your head up," Kael muttered to Vince as they passed. "Red Light might seem quiet now, but it's never really safe."
"I'm noticing that," Vince replied, keeping his voice low.
As they moved deeper into the district, the streets became narrower, the air heavier with the faint scent of smoke and damp stone. The Ravens' Nest wasn't far now, and the tension in the group was palpable. Gallen raised a hand, signaling a halt as they reached a crossroads where the alley split into three paths.
"Barrett, take a look ahead," Gallen said in a hushed tone.
Barrett nodded, slipping into the shadows like a wraith. The group waited, their breaths barely audible as the seconds dragged on. Vince's pulse quickened, his grip on the sword tightening. His ears strained for any sound beyond the faint rustle of wind and the distant murmur of the city waking up.
After what felt like an eternity, Barrett returned, his expression grim. "All clear for now, but the Nest looks... quiet, too quiet."
Gallen's jaw tightened. "Alright. We approach slow and quiet. Vince, stay in the middle. If anything happens, do as I say, no questions."
"Yes, sir," Vince replied, his voice trying to sound steady.
As they neared the Nest, the atmosphere grew heavier. The small, unassuming building sat at the end of a narrow alley, its weathered stone exterior blending into the surroundings. It was designed to be inconspicuous, but the lack of activity around it set Vince on edge. No guards, no movement; nothing.
Gallen motioned for the group to stop a few yards away, his sharp eyes scanning the area. "Something's off," he murmured.
Kael nodded. "No sentries. No lights inside."
"God's balls," Gallen said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Vince, you see those crates by the wall?"
Vince followed his gaze to a stack of wooden crates just outside the Nest's entrance. "Yeah."
"Cover there. If something happens, stay low and keep your eyes on me. Got it?"
"Got it."
Gallen gestured for Barrett and Kael to fan out, each taking a side of the building. Vince moved to the crates, crouching low behind them as he watched the others advance toward the entrance. His heart pounded in his chest, every sound amplified in the stillness.
Gallen reached the door first, testing the handle carefully. It opened with a faint creak, the sound cutting through the silence like a knife. He pushed it open slowly, stepping inside with Barrett close behind. Kael waited at the door, his weapon drawn, his gaze flicking between the alley and the building's darkened interior.
Vince waited, his every muscle tense. The minutes dragged, each second feeling like an eternity. Then, a faint noise came from inside—a shuffle, barely audible, but enough to send a jolt through him.
Kael's head snapped toward the sound, his expression sharp. He motioned for Vince to stay put, then slipped inside, leaving the door ajar.
Alone now, Vince crouched lower, his heart hammering as he gripped the hilt of his sword. The alley felt colder, the shadows deeper, and every instinct screamed that something wasn't right.
From inside the Nest came a low, muffled thud, followed by silence.
Vince's breath caught in his throat. Whatever was happening in there, it had just begun.
The stillness was suffocating. Vince crouched behind the crates outside the Ravens' Nest, his breath slow and deliberate as he strained to hear anything from within the shadowed building. He gripped the hilt of his sword tightly, the weight of the weapon both reassuring and unnerving in his grasp. Whatever was happening inside, it wasn't normal. The eerie quiet pressed against his ears, louder than any battle cry.
Then, the silence shattered.
A sudden crash echoed from inside the Nest, followed by muffled shouts, Gallen's voice cutting through the confusion like a blade. Vince's heart leapt into his throat, and before he could think, he was moving, stepping out from behind the crates and toward the open door. The air seemed colder, heavier, as if something unseen pressed against his skin.
He entered the threshold, glancing into the dim interior. Shadows stretched across the floor, distorted by the faint flicker of a lantern left dangling from its hook. The stench hit him first; a foul, rotting odor that churned his stomach. Inside, the Nest was a scene of chaos.
The room, once tidy and functional, was now a grotesque tableau of violence. Blood painted the walls in thick, uneven streaks, pooling on the floor where bodies lay crumpled in unnatural positions. Furniture was overturned, crates smashed open, their contents scattered across the room. Vince's eyes widened as he stepped inside, his breath catching at the sight of the bodies; guards from the House, their faces frozen in expressions of terror and pain.
Barrett was crouched near one of the corpses, his face pale as he inspected a deep, jagged wound across the man's chest. "This wasn't done by blades," he said, his voice low and grim. "Something else tore through them."
Kael stood a few feet away, his sword drawn and his eyes darting around the room. "Magic," he muttered. "You can feel it in the air: thick and foul."
Gallen was in the center of the room, crouched near a body that lay sprawled face-down. He turned it over carefully, revealing the wide, staring eyes of a man whose mouth was frozen in a silent scream. Vince took an involuntary step back as Gallen examined the wound; a blackened, charred gash across the man's torso, as though fire had burned him from the inside out.
"This wasn't a fight," Gallen said, his voice low but razor-sharp. "It was a massacre."
"What the hell could've done this?" Barrett asked, rising to his feet, his knuckles white as he gripped his axe.
"Something unnatural," Gallen replied, standing and turning to face the others. "Keep your weapons ready. We're not alone."
The first sound was faint a dry, brittle cracking, like the snap of twigs underfoot. Vince froze, his hand tightening on his sword as he scanned the room. Then it came again, louder this time, followed by the low, guttural groan of something that shouldn't have come from a person.
One of the bodies near the far wall twitched.
Vince's heart skipped a beat as he watched the corpse, a young guard whose throat had been torn open; begin to move. The man's head lolled to the side, his lifeless eyes rolling toward the group as his limbs jerked and spasmed unnaturally. Slowly, horrifyingly, the body began to rise.
"Undead," Kael hissed, taking a step back, his sword coming up defensively.
"More than one," Gallen said, his tone calm but firm. He gestured to the other bodies scattered across the room. As if on cue, more of them began to stir; broken limbs snapping into place, blackened eyes staring sightlessly as they rose.
"Form up!" Gallen barked. "Kael, Barrett, watch the flanks. Vince, stay close to me!"
The undead surged forward with horrifying speed, their movements jerky and erratic. Vince barely had time to draw his sword before one of them lunged at him; a former guard whose chest cavity gaped open like a grotesque maw. The creature swiped at him with claw-like fingers, and Vince parried instinctively, the clash of steel against bone sending vibrations up his arm.
The force of the attack staggered him, but he recovered quickly, sidestepping and slashing downward. His blade bit into the creature's shoulder, cutting deep; but it barely seemed to notice, its head snapped toward him with a guttural snarl. Panic clawed at the edges of Vince's mind, but Gallen's voice cut through it.
"Stay calm! Aim for the neck or the head!"
Gritting his teeth, Vince swung again, this time aiming higher. His blade found its mark: severing the creature's head with a wet sound. The blade passing through rotting flesh and bone with ease. The body collapsed instantly, but there was no time to breathe. Another was already coming at him.
This one was faster, its emaciated frame darting forward with unnatural agility. Vince ducked under its swipe and drove his sword upward in a desperate thrust. The blade pierced its throat, and with a sharp tug, he pulled it free, sending the creature tumbling back.
While Vince fought to keep up, Gallen moved through the room like a storm. His sword flashed in the dim light, every swing precise and lethal. He didn't waste movement; each strike found its target, cutting through bone and sinew with terrifying efficiency. Three of the creatures lunged at him at once, and with a single, fluid motion, he dispatched them all: a wide, arcing slash followed by a thrust that sent the last one crumpling to the floor unable to rise again.
Barrett and Kael held their own, their weapons carving through the undead as they worked to keep the creatures from flanking the group. Barrett's axe cleaved through two at once, while Kael's sword danced in quick, efficient strikes that left a pile of bodies in his wake.
Gallen's voice rang out above the chaos. "Vince! Stay focused! Don't let them surround you!"
The battle was a blur of movement and noise; clashing steel, guttural snarls, and the sickening sound of parting flesh. Vince's muscles burned as he swung his sword again and again, each strike fueled by a mix of fear and determination. The creatures seemed endless, but slowly, the tide began to turn.
With Gallen at the center, directing the group with sharp commands, they began to push the undead back. Vince's strikes grew more confident, his movements more fluid as he adapted to the rhythm of the fight. He wasn't as fast or as strong as Gallen, but he was keeping up. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the last of the creatures fell, its head severed from its body in a clean strike. The room fell silent once more, save for the labored breathing of the group.
Vince leaned against the wall, his sword still in hand, the blade slick with dark, coagulated blood. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath, his mind racing to process what had just happened.
Gallen stood in the center of the room, his sword dripping as he surveyed the carnage. His face was calm, but his eyes were sharp: scanning every corner for any remaining threats.
"Everyone alright?" he asked, his voice steady.
Barrett and Kael nodded, though both looked shaken. Vince managed a nod as well, though his hands still trembled from the adrenaline.
"What... what were those things?" Vince finally asked, his voice hoarse.
"Dark magic," Gallen replied grimly, wiping his blade on a torn piece of cloth. "Someone didn't just kill these men. They used them."
Barrett spat on the floor, his expression dark. "Necromancers."
Gallen nodded. "And not amateurs, either. This was deliberate. A message."
Vince swallowed hard, his gaze drifting to the bodies. The room was a nightmare, and the stench of death clung to the air like a curse. But beneath the fear, a spark of determination burned within him.
This was no longer just about survival. Whoever had done this, whoever had turned men into monsters, angered him to his core.