Aran stood over the assassin's lifeless body, the weight of their final words lingering in the cold night air. "Too late." His grip tightened around the small vial he had found—a piece of the puzzle, but not enough to make sense of the entire plan. The Puppeteer was still several steps ahead, and time was slipping through Aran's fingers.
The poison was fast-acting, and the assassin had chosen death over revealing any information. It wasn't surprising, but it was frustrating. Aran had learned to anticipate this level of commitment from the Puppeteer's agents. Each one was a cog in a larger machine, and they had no illusions of survival if their part was compromised.
Aran tucked the vial into his cloak and began his search of the alley. He was meticulous, checking every crevice, every shadow. If the assassin had left any further clues, they would be subtle—intentionally so. After a few tense moments, his hand brushed against a hidden compartment in the assassin's belt. Inside was a small slip of parchment, sealed with wax.
His breath caught for a moment. This could be what he needed.
With a swift motion, he broke the seal and unfolded the parchment. The message was cryptic, written in code. Aran's eyes scanned the symbols, his mind quickly piecing together the familiar patterns. It was a cipher he had seen before, used by the Puppeteer's inner circle. After several moments of mental calculation, the message revealed itself:
*"The tide rises at dawn. The city will burn. The false king will fall."*
Aran's stomach twisted. Whatever the plan was, it would go into full effect by sunrise, and the city—along with the royal family—was in immediate danger. But the phrase "false king" stood out. The Puppeteer had always operated with a calculated disdain for the royal family, but this was different. There was a personal edge to this plan.
He pocketed the note and moved swiftly, making his way back to the rooftops. He needed a vantage point to watch over the palace and the surrounding district. As he climbed, his mind raced through the possibilities. The royal family had been under constant threat for weeks, but the nature of this plan seemed to go beyond a simple assassination or coup. The Puppeteer had something more catastrophic in mind—something that could tear the city apart from within.
---
Lyssa was waiting for him at the edge of the rooftop when he arrived. Her face was tense, her hand resting on the hilt of her dagger.
"I followed one of the guards," she said without preamble. "They're starting to lock down parts of the city. It looks like the royal family has been tipped off about something, but they don't know what."
Aran nodded. "The Puppeteer's final move is about to play out. The assassin I intercepted was carrying this." He handed her the vial and explained the coded message.
Lyssa frowned as she examined the vial. "Poison?"
"Something worse, I think," Aran replied. "We need to figure out what this is and how it fits into the larger plan. If the Puppeteer intends to burn the city and bring down the 'false king,' we need to be ready for anything."
Lyssa's gaze darkened. "If the Puppeteer's agents are already in place, we might be running out of time to stop this."
Aran's eyes flicked toward the palace in the distance. The spires loomed against the dark sky, still peaceful for the moment. But dawn was fast approaching, and with it, the tide of destruction.
"We need to get into the palace," he said. "If we can get close to the royal family, we might be able to prevent whatever's coming."
Lyssa hesitated. "The guards will be on high alert. How do you plan to get inside?"
A faint smile crossed Aran's lips. "The same way we always do—by creating a distraction."
---
An hour later, the streets near the palace were anything but quiet. Several small fires had broken out, sending the guards scrambling to contain the chaos. Aran and Lyssa moved through the shadows, slipping past the distracted patrols and making their way toward the heavily guarded gates.
The fires had been set strategically, far enough from the palace to avoid suspicion but close enough to draw attention away from the side entrance Aran had in mind. As they approached the gate, they spotted two guards standing watch. Aran signaled to Lyssa, and within moments, she had disappeared into the shadows.
Aran approached the guards casually, his cloak pulled tight around him. "Is everything under control here?" he asked, his voice carrying the tone of a concerned citizen.
The guards exchanged a glance. "Move along, sir. This area is under royal protection. We don't need any civilians getting involved."
Aran nodded, taking a few steps back as if to comply. Then, without warning, a flash of movement from the shadows took one guard down, and before the second could react, Aran had struck with precision, knocking him unconscious.
Lyssa stepped out of the shadows, smirking. "You're getting predictable, Aran."
Aran smiled grimly. "Let's hope the Puppeteer isn't as predictable."
They dragged the guards out of sight and slipped through the side entrance, making their way into the palace grounds. The corridors were dimly lit, the usual bustling activity of the palace replaced by an eerie stillness. Aran could sense the tension in the air—something was coming, and the royal family was sitting in the middle of it.
As they moved deeper into the palace, Aran's mind raced with the implications of the coded message. The tide rises at dawn. What did that mean? It could be a metaphor, or perhaps something more literal—an attack on the palace itself? And the "false king"—was that a reference to the current monarch, or was there someone else the Puppeteer had in mind?
They reached the inner chambers of the palace, where the royal family resided. Aran knew they couldn't simply barge in. They needed to gather more information, observe the situation from the shadows.
Lyssa pointed toward a nearby balcony. "We can watch from there. If anything happens, we'll be in position."
Aran nodded, following her lead. As they crouched in the shadows, waiting for the dawn, Aran's thoughts turned to the Puppeteer's endgame. Whatever was coming, it was going to shake the city to its core.
And as the first light of dawn broke over the horizon, Aran realized the final countdown had begun.
---
The soft chime of a bell echoed through the palace halls, signaling the start of the day. But this dawn would be different—Aran could feel it. He had been too late to stop the assassin, but he wasn't too late to stop the Puppeteer's grand plan.
Now, it was only a matter of figuring out how.