The tavern in the city of Draevan was dimly lit, filled with the scent of cheap ale and old wood. Alaric sat at the corner table, his hood drawn low over his face. Beside him sat his companions: Elara, always watching his every move with concern; and Jorin, a former mercenary turned trusted ally.
Jorin was a gruff man with a cynical outlook on life. He had seen too many battles, lost too many friends, to believe in lofty ideals. But he had pledged his loyalty to Alaric after the Unifier saved his life during the Siege of Calthor, when the Veiled Ones had nearly broken through the veil. Jorin was practical, but Alaric knew he also harbored doubts about their mission. He had seen the way Jorin eyed the shadow magic, his mistrust growing with every spell Alaric cast.
Their meeting was with another potential ally, Lady Seraphine of the Silver Court—a powerful enchantress with her own agenda. She was rumored to be tied to the Veiled Ones, though she had publicly denied it. Alaric didn't trust her, but they needed her influence to gain access to the forbidden archives in the capital.
As they talked, Alaric felt the pull of the shadows again, whispering to him that Seraphine could not be trusted. That she would betray them the first chance she got. But he silenced the voices—he needed her power, just as much as she needed his.
But the moment she left the tavern, Jorin leaned in close and said, "She's going to stab us in the back, you know that, right?"
Alaric nodded. "I know. That's why we'll strike first."