Aran stood motionless, gripping the second letter in his hand. The words on the page echoed in his mind like a mocking whisper.
_"You're not the only one pulling strings."_
A dangerous surge of emotion welled up inside him, one he quickly suppressed. Aran had never been one to succumb to frustration, but this situation was different. His shadowy opponent wasn't just playing the game; they were taunting him, forcing him into a position where each move felt precarious. They wanted him to react, to misstep, but Aran wasn't that easy to manipulate.
This wasn't a simple matter of deception anymore. It had escalated into a silent war, one where every player remained hidden, and every move was made in the dark. Aran's mind raced with possibilities, and he carefully considered each path forward. He needed information—something that would reveal who was behind this.
More importantly, he needed control.
---
The next day, Aran met with Lucan in a far less public setting. The safehouse was cold, and the dim light barely illuminated the dust-filled room. It was a perfect place to discuss matters best left unheard by others.
Lucan had a few updates, though nothing substantial. "This new player is careful, Aran. Whoever they are, they're covering their tracks well."
Aran's eyes narrowed as Lucan continued, "They've managed to slip into a few circles—rumors place them in some of the inner districts, closer to the council's seat of power."
The council. That was unexpected. Aran had been playing the Black Hand factions against each other, but he hadn't anticipated this third-party interference to come from within the governing body. Someone in power was either behind this or working with someone who was.
"Who on the council is bold enough to play this game?" Aran asked.
Lucan shook his head. "It's not clear. But whoever it is has deep connections. Even my contacts are being stonewalled, which is rare."
Aran crossed his arms, thinking. If this new player had ties to the council, they had influence. And influence meant resources. Aran had been meticulous in staying under the radar, but now he couldn't afford to sit idle. If his enemy had political clout, then it was only a matter of time before they would make a move that forced his hand.
---
As night fell, Aran decided to pay a visit to the inner districts himself. Disguised as a common merchant, he blended in with the crowds, using the cover of darkness to mask his movements. The streets were bustling with the usual late-night activity—traders haggling, drunks stumbling out of taverns, and shady deals being made in back alleys.
Aran navigated through it all with ease, his eyes sharp and focused. He wasn't here for a random search; he had a lead. Lucan's vague mention of the council wasn't enough, but Aran had another source—one he rarely used unless necessary.
Her name was Lydia.
She was once a close ally, someone who had shared his ambitions before their paths diverged. Lydia had chosen to remain in the inner circles of power, aligning herself with council members who could secure her future. Aran hadn't seen her in over a year, but now, her knowledge could prove invaluable.
---
The moon hung high in the sky as Aran arrived at a small but luxurious estate nestled among the wealthier parts of the city. He scaled the outer wall with practiced precision, landing silently in the courtyard. The guards patrolled lazily, unaware of the intruder in their midst.
Aran slipped past them and made his way toward a side entrance. He knew this house well—Lydia had invited him here many times when they were still working together. Back then, the estate was a symbol of her growing power, her way of proving she could stand alongside the elite. Now, it was his entry point to unraveling the truth.
Inside, the house was quiet, save for the distant crackling of a fireplace. Aran moved swiftly, avoiding detection as he climbed the stairs to Lydia's private study.
He paused before the door, considering his approach. Lydia was not one to take kindly to uninvited guests, but he had little choice. Taking a deep breath, he knocked gently and waited.
The door creaked open after a few moments, and there she stood. Lydia's dark hair framed her face, and her sharp eyes quickly scanned Aran before a faint smirk formed on her lips.
"Well, well," she said, leaning against the doorframe. "I didn't expect to see you again, Aran. What brings you to my doorstep in the dead of night?"
Aran met her gaze evenly. "I need information, Lydia. And you're one of the few people who might have it."
She raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Is that so? I take it this is about the new player in town?"
Aran's surprise didn't show, but it was clear Lydia was already aware of what was happening. That was both a good and bad sign. Good because it meant she was connected, bad because it meant his enemy might also have ties to her.
"I know they're working in the shadows," Aran replied. "And I know they have connections within the council."
Lydia sighed, stepping back and motioning for him to enter. "I was wondering when you'd come asking about them. Seems like you're in deeper than usual this time."
Aran entered the study, noting the wealth of documents and books spread across the room. Lydia closed the door behind him and moved to her desk, where she casually poured herself a glass of wine.
"I'm not going to pretend I know everything," she began, "but I do know there's a power shift happening. The council is more divided than they've ever been. Several factions are vying for control, and your 'new player' is part of that."
"Which faction?" Aran asked.
Lydia took a sip of her wine before answering, "That's the tricky part. They're not aligned with any single faction. They're playing all sides, whispering in the right ears and sowing discord where it benefits them."
Aran's mind raced as he processed this. If this player was manipulating the council and the Black Hand simultaneously, it meant they were far more dangerous than he had initially thought.
"They're trying to fracture everything," Lydia continued. "The council, the Black Hand—it's all part of their plan. And from what I've gathered, they've been at it for longer than anyone realized."
Aran leaned forward. "Who are they?"
Lydia hesitated, then met his gaze. "I don't know their name. No one does. But I do know they go by a title."
She paused, letting the tension hang in the air for a moment.
"They call themselves 'The Puppeteer.'"
Aran's expression remained unreadable, but inside, he felt a cold chill. Whoever this Puppeteer was, they had been manipulating events from behind the scenes, much like he had. But now, they had turned their attention to him.
This was no longer just a game of deception. It was a battle for control.
And Aran wasn't about to lose.