The city gates loomed ahead, massive iron structures adorned with intricate carvings of the royal family's crest. Merchants, travelers, and guards bustled around the entrance, their chatter blending into a dull roar. Kael adjusted the straps of his satchel, his simple clothing and worn boots completing the guise of a traveling apprentice. The sword at his hip was modest, unremarkable—the kind carried by many wanderers seeking work or trade in the capital.
He slipped into the line of people waiting to enter, his expression neutral, his posture relaxed. Marcus's instructions echoed in his mind: "Blend in. Be forgettable."
The guards at the gate were thorough, their eyes sharp as they inspected each traveler. Kael noted their patterns—the way one checked bags while the other scanned faces, the casual yet deliberate questions they asked.
When his turn came, Kael handed over his papers—fake, but expertly forged. The guard glanced at them, his brow furrowing slightly as he looked Kael up and down.
"Name?"
"Kael Turner," he replied evenly, using the alias Marcus had given him.
"Purpose of your visit?"
"I'm looking for work. My master said the capital always has room for an extra hand."
The guard grunted, flipping through the papers once more before handing them back. "Don't cause any trouble."
Kael nodded and stepped through the gates, his heart steady despite the tension coiled in his chest.
---
The capital was overwhelming—a labyrinth of cobblestone streets and towering buildings, their facades a blend of opulence and age. Crowds surged through the markets, the air thick with the scents of spices, roasted meat, and smoke. Kael kept his head down, his steps purposeful as he navigated the chaos.
His first destination was a modest inn on the city's outskirts, chosen for its lack of attention. The owner barely glanced at him as he paid for a room, and the patrons were too engrossed in their own affairs to notice another face among the crowd.
Once inside his room, Kael locked the door and unrolled the map Marcus had given him. The gala was still two nights away, but he had work to do before then—routes to memorize, escape plans to solidify.
---
That evening, Kael ventured back into the city, his goal clear: reconnaissance. The councilman's mansion was in the noble district, a stark contrast to the chaotic markets and bustling streets he had passed earlier.
Here, the roads were wide and clean, lined with manicured gardens and patrolled by guards in gleaming armor. Kael moved carefully, his steps slow as he took in every detail—the positions of the guards, the placement of the gates, the rhythm of the patrols.
The mansion itself was a fortress disguised as a home. Tall iron gates encircled the property, and the building rose like a monolith, its stone walls cold and uninviting.
Kael lingered in the shadows, noting the lights in the windows, the faint laughter of nobles spilling into the night. His eyes narrowed as he spotted a servant slipping through a side entrance, a bundle of linens in their arms.
An opening.
---
The next day, Kael returned to the area, this time under the guise of a street vendor. He carried a tray of trinkets—cheap jewelry and carved wooden charms—and positioned himself near the mansion's back gate.
He observed the comings and goings of the staff, noting their routines and the moments when the guards' attention waned. A plan began to form, each detail slotting into place like the pieces of a puzzle.
By the time night fell, Kael had what he needed.
---
The day of the gala arrived, and the city buzzed with anticipation. Nobles in extravagant attire filled the streets, their carriages rolling toward the noble district. Kael watched from the shadows, his heart steady as he prepared for the task ahead.
Slipping into the servant's entrance had been simpler than he expected. Dressed in borrowed livery, Kael blended seamlessly with the household staff, his movements calculated and precise.
Inside, the mansion was a maze of opulent halls and grand chambers, the walls adorned with tapestries and gilded mirrors. Kael kept his head down, his hands busy as he carried trays and polished silverware. But his mind was focused, his eyes always searching.
The councilman was in the main ballroom, surrounded by laughter and music. Kael's target was clear, but the timing had to be perfect. He couldn't just kill the man; he had to send a message.
---
As the night wore on, Kael slipped away from the crowd, his steps silent as he made his way to the councilman's private chambers. The shadows seemed to guide him, their presence a comfort as he worked.
The room was empty when he arrived, the councilman still entertaining his guests. Kael moved quickly, his hands steady as he arranged the scene—a dagger embedded in the desk, a symbol carved into the wood beside it. The message was simple but chilling: You are not untouchable.
He slipped back into the servants' quarters just as the councilman's laughter echoed down the hall.
---
The assassination was over in seconds. The councilman had dismissed his guards for the night, his confidence in the mansion's defenses his undoing. Kael struck swiftly, the shadows muffling the sound as the blade found its mark.
As the councilman collapsed, Kael whispered, "This is just the beginning."
The shadows swallowed him whole as he disappeared into the night, leaving chaos in his wake.
---
Kael returned to the inn before dawn, his heart pounding with the weight of what he had done. But there was no time for doubt. The mission was complete, and Marcus would expect him to report back.
He stared at his reflection in the cracked mirror, his face calm but his eyes haunted. This was the life he had chosen, the path Marcus had set him on. And there was no turning back.