The ruins near the outskirts of the city were a perfect hiding spot—hidden in plain sight. The ancient stones, weathered by centuries, stood as silent witnesses to the clandestine meeting about to take place. Aran crouched in the shadows, his form concealed by the crumbling walls of the estate. The cool morning mist clung to the air, muffling the sounds around him, but his senses were sharp, alert.
He had followed Darian's directions exactly, arriving just ahead of the council members. From his vantage point, Aran watched as a series of carriages rolled up to the estate's gate, each one bearing the crest of a different faction or house within the city. One by one, the council members stepped out, each flanked by their personal guards.
Their faces were hard, determined. There was no hesitation in their movements—these men and women believed in the Puppeteer's vision. But Aran knew that belief was a fragile thing, easily shattered by fear and doubt. His task today was to break that belief and sow confusion within their ranks.
He carefully observed the guards stationed at key points around the estate. Unlike the common thugs hired to protect warehouses or streets, these were elite soldiers, trained and disciplined. They moved with purpose, scanning the area for any signs of threat. Aran knew he couldn't simply sneak past them without a plan. It was time to make his move.
Pulling out a small vial from his pouch, Aran uncorked it and poured its contents onto the ground near the main entrance. It was a potent mixture, something he had acquired from an apothecary in one of the darker corners of the city—a scentless powder that would temporarily dull the senses of those who inhaled it. As the mist of the morning carried the powder into the air, Aran waited patiently for it to take effect.
The guards stationed by the entrance began to shift uncomfortably, their sharpness dulling as the powder took hold. Their gazes, once piercing and alert, grew heavy, and their movements slowed. One by one, they began to falter, leaning against the wall for support. Aran smirked to himself—it was a small window of opportunity, but it was enough.
With practiced agility, Aran slipped through the shadows, moving past the dazed guards and into the estate. Inside, the council members had gathered in a large hall, their voices echoing through the high ceilings. The room was dimly lit, the only source of light coming from a few flickering lanterns on the walls. Aran could hear the tension in their voices as they discussed the Puppeteer's plans.
The council members sat in a circle, with the Puppeteer's lieutenant standing at the center, a tall, imposing figure dressed in black. His face was hidden by a hood, but his voice carried authority as he addressed the group.
"The time has come for us to act," the lieutenant said, his voice deep and commanding. "The city is ripe for the taking. By the end of this week, we will have full control over the trade routes and the council. No one will stand in our way."
The council members murmured in agreement, their eyes gleaming with ambition. Aran listened carefully, noting the names of those who spoke most enthusiastically. These were the true believers, the ones who would be hardest to sway. But there were others—those who remained silent, their faces betraying a flicker of doubt. They were the ones Aran would target.
He slipped through the shadows, moving closer to the group. His heart raced as he calculated his next steps. It wasn't enough to simply disrupt the meeting—he needed to turn the council members against each other, to make them question their loyalty to the Puppeteer.
As the lieutenant continued to speak, Aran pulled out a small device from his cloak. It was a crude thing, something he had cobbled together over the past few days—a voice modulator. With it, he could project his voice in different directions, making it seem as though the words were coming from someone else. It was risky, but if he timed it right, it could work.
He waited for the right moment, his eyes scanning the room for the perfect target. His gaze settled on a councilwoman seated near the back, her posture stiff and uneasy. Her name was Nira—Darian had mentioned her in passing. She was new to the council, having been appointed only a few months ago. She had risen to power quickly, thanks to her connections, but Aran could tell she wasn't fully committed to the cause.
As the lieutenant finished speaking, Aran activated the device, his voice low and distorted as he spoke from the shadows.
"Is this what you signed up for, Nira?" the voice echoed through the hall, seeming to come from the far corner of the room.
The council members froze, their eyes darting around in confusion. Nira stiffened, her eyes wide with shock as she turned toward the source of the voice.
"What are you talking about?" she demanded, her voice trembling.
"Betrayal," the voice whispered, carrying an ominous weight. "The Puppeteer will discard you the moment you're no longer useful. Haven't you wondered why you've been kept in the dark? Why the lieutenant never tells you the full plan?"
Nira's face paled, her eyes narrowing as she glanced toward the lieutenant. The other council members began to whisper among themselves, suspicion creeping into their expressions.
"What is this nonsense?" the lieutenant barked, his voice sharp and authoritative. "Who's there?"
Aran remained hidden, his hand steady on the modulator. He wasn't done yet.
"Do you really trust him, Nira?" the voice continued, its tone soft yet insidious. "Look around you. How many of these people would turn on you if it meant saving their own skin? How long before you become a liability?"
Nira's gaze shifted nervously between the council members, doubt flickering in her eyes. The seed had been planted.
The lieutenant stepped forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "Enough of this. We need to secure the estate. Guards—"
But his command was cut off as a loud crash echoed from outside the hall. The doors burst open, and several of the guards stumbled in, their eyes wide with confusion and fear. They had fallen under the effects of Aran's powder, their senses dulled and their movements sluggish.
"The guards… they're compromised!" one of the council members shouted, panic spreading through the room.
In the ensuing chaos, Aran moved swiftly. He slipped out of the hall, disappearing into the shadows once again. The council was in disarray, their trust shattered. Nira's doubt would fester, and the rest of the council would begin to question their own loyalties.
Aran smiled to himself as he made his way back toward the city. The Puppeteer's grip on the council was weakening, and soon, it would crumble altogether. But there was still more work to be done. The game was far from over, and Aran had only just begun to make his moves.