The moon hung high above the border village, its silvery light casting long shadows over the cluster of quiet houses. Beneath one of the larger structures, hidden away in a concealed cellar, a group of five assassins huddled around a dimly lit table. The atmosphere was tense, each of them clutching at weapons or fidgeting with pieces of gear. Veltra, the leader, stood at the head of the group, her sharp eyes scanning their faces as she spoke, her tone cutting through the tension like a blade.
"We can't afford mistakes," she said, her voice low but firm. "Our target is critical. The Envoys of the Serewyn Prince must not leave this region. If they reach the border, it's not just our failure—it's a direct threat to our employer's plans."
One of the assassins, a wiry man named Lorn, adjusted his bracers, muttering under his breath, "Still don't get why the last team failed. They were supposed to handle this already."
