The early morning mist hung heavy in the air, blanketing the village and the rugged hills surrounding it. Raze tightened the straps on his worn boots, checking his supplies: a half-empty water flask, a small pouch of dried food, and a thin, sharp dagger he'd kept hidden. He would need every advantage he could get.
The woman with the scar—Jala, he had learned her name was—watched him from a distance, her eyes cold and calculating. She'd given him his assignment just moments before, a simple command that held an unspoken challenge.
"Runners deliver messages between sects and supply the higher ranks. Your task is to get this letter," she'd handed him a small sealed scroll, "to the Ashen Vein Sect, two valleys over."
It sounded straightforward, but Raze had heard enough to know that the journey was far from safe. The Ashen Vein Sect was known for its lethal guardianship over their territory, not to mention the treacherous terrain that lay in between. If Jala had intended to test his resolve, she was going to get her answer.
Without a word, Raze slipped the scroll into his belt, took one last look at the village, and began his journey down the mountain trail. His steps were measured, steady, and with each one, he felt the Iron Vein thrumming within him, eager to face whatever came next.
The path was rugged and narrow, winding between jagged cliffs and thick patches of brush. Raze's instincts kept him alert, his eyes scanning for any sign of movement. The Veinborn sects were notoriously territorial, and he had no allies in these parts.
Hours passed, the sun rising higher, the mist slowly burning away. Sweat trickled down his back, his muscles aching, but he pushed forward. The idea of being seen as weak gnawed at him. He would prove himself, but not by stumbling through a simple delivery mission. This was his chance to learn the lay of the land, to understand how these sects operated—and, eventually, to rise above them.
He had just crossed a narrow ravine when he heard it—a rustling in the bushes ahead. He froze, his hand instinctively going to his dagger. The sound grew louder, followed by a low growl that rumbled through the air.
From the shadows of the brush, a creature emerged. It was large and lean, with a dark, mottled coat, teeth bared in a snarl. Its eyes glowed faintly, and Raze recognized it at once—a Veinhound, a creature often used by sects to guard their borders. It must have caught his scent.
Raze's pulse quickened, but he didn't panic. His grip tightened on the dagger, his mind racing. The Iron Vein pulsed beneath his skin, urging him to act, to strike first. But he knew that a direct confrontation would drain him too quickly. Veinhounds were fast, relentless. He needed a plan.
Slowly, he crouched, his eyes never leaving the creature's. He reached into his pouch, retrieving a handful of dried food. Veinhounds were creatures of instinct, trained to guard, but still animals at heart. He tossed the food to the ground, his movements slow and deliberate, a silent offering.
The hound hesitated, its gaze flickering to the food, back to him, and then to the food again. It sniffed the air, inching closer, its snarls softening. Raze held his breath, waiting for the right moment. As the hound's focus shifted, he took a cautious step back, then another, creating distance until he was clear of the creature's territory.
The hound watched him for a moment longer, but then, satisfied, it turned its attention to the food, losing interest in him entirely. Raze exhaled slowly, feeling a surge of satisfaction. He didn't need to waste his strength fighting—he had outwitted it instead.
By the time he reached the Ashen Vein Sect's territory, the sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows over the valley. The sect's compound lay ahead, a series of stone buildings with dark, narrow windows and a high wall surrounding it. Torches lined the walls, and Raze could see figures patrolling the perimeter, their Vein marks glowing faintly in the dim light.
He approached the entrance, keeping his expression neutral, confident. A guard stepped forward, a young man with a scarred face and the faint glow of a Fire Vein mark on his arm.
"State your business," the guard said, his tone sharp.
"I have a message for your master," Raze replied, his voice steady as he held out the sealed scroll.
The guard took it, examining it closely before nodding. "Wait here," he said, gesturing for Raze to stay by the gate.
Raze waited, watching as the guard disappeared into the compound. He could feel eyes on him, the other guards assessing him, measuring his worth. He ignored them, keeping his focus on the compound, his mind already analyzing the layout, noting weak points, exits, and paths he might need in the future.
After a few tense minutes, the guard returned, his expression unreadable. He handed Raze a small token, a round, polished stone with an intricate design etched into its surface.
"This is your proof of delivery," the guard said. "Show it to Jala when you return."
Raze took the token, slipping it into his belt. He gave a curt nod and turned to leave, but the guard's voice stopped him.
"A word of advice," the guard said, his gaze hard. "Runners who think they're special don't last long here. Keep your head down, follow orders, and maybe you'll survive."
Raze met his gaze, a cold smile flickering at the edges of his mouth. "Thanks for the advice," he said, though his tone held no gratitude. "But I'm not here to follow orders. I'm here to learn how to rise above them."
Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked back toward the trail, his mind racing with plans and possibilities. He knew that his role as a runner was temporary, a stepping stone toward something greater. He would endure it, bide his time, and learn everything he could about the sects and their workings.
And when the time came, he would discard them, just as they would discard him if he ever showed weakness.
Raze's grip tightened on the token in his belt, a silent promise to himself. His path was set, and he would stop at nothing to reach its end.