Ronan's instincts screamed at him. He twisted to the side just in time, the blade slicing through empty air. The thief's movements were erratic but fast, each strike driven by desperation rather than skill.
Ronan's heart pounded as he retreated, his mind racing for a solution.
He didn't have the strength or the tools to fight back conventionally—but he didn't need those things. He had [Whisper].
The thief lunged again, this time faster, more precise. Ronan barely dodged, his feet sliding on the loose gravel. He slipped behind the thief in one fluid motion, leaning close enough for his words to reach his target.
"You're holding a knife," Ronan whispered, his voice smooth and chilling, laced with an unnatural weight. "But are you sure it's real?"
The thief hesitated. His grip loosened, just for a moment, as doubt flickered in his eyes. His gaze shifted to the blade in his hand as though questioning its very existence.
Ronan pressed the advantage, his voice coming softer, yet cutting deeper.
"Your hands are trembling, aren't they? You can't trust them."
The thief's movements grew sluggish, his strikes losing precision. His breathing quickened, the whisper gnawing at his confidence.
"You feel it," Ronan continued, circling him like a shadow. "The weight of your choices. It's suffocating, isn't it?"
The thief stumbled, his footing unsure. His face twisted in panic, his gaze darting wildly as if trying to locate Ronan in the encroaching darkness.
Desperation took hold, and the thief roared, charging blindly toward where he thought Ronan was. Ronan sidestepped, his heart pounding as the man's momentum carried him past.
"You're already lost," Ronan whispered again, his voice now sharper, colder. "You don't even know where you are."
The thief froze mid-step, his body rigid as though the whispers had bound him. The dagger slipped from his grasp, clattering onto the stones below. For a moment, Ronan thought it was over.
But then, something shifted.
The thief's eyes hardened, the glaze of fear lifting like a dissipating fog. His muscles tightened, his body snapping back into motion with terrifying speed.
"You think you're clever, don't you?" the thief growled, his voice low and venomous. He spun around, his hand shooting toward Ronan's throat.
Ronan barely managed to duck, the thief's fingers grazing his neck. A sharp pang of terror shot through him as he stumbled back, his focus splintering.
"You think your little tricks frighten me?" the thief snarled, grabbing the fallen dagger in one fluid motion. "I'm destined for something greater than this!"
The thief lunged, and this time, Ronan wasn't fast enough. The blade grazed his side, slicing through his shirt and drawing blood. He gasped, clutching his wound as he stumbled backward.
Panic set in, but he forced himself to focus. [Whisper] wasn't about overpowering. It was about timing. Control.
Ronan steadied his breathing, his voice barely audible as he activated [Whisper] again, "You missed. But why?"
The thief hesitated, his movements faltering.
"Your hands aren't steady anymore," Ronan added, his voice weaving through the thief's mind. "Your grip is slipping. You'll fail again."
The thief's eyes twitched, the doubt creeping back in. He hesitated for just a moment—but it was all Ronan needed.
Summoning every ounce of strength, Ronan surged forward, using the thief's hesitation to knock the dagger from his hand. It clattered to the ground, and Ronan kicked it away, sending it skidding into the shadows.
Breathing heavily, Ronan stood over the thief, his gaze cold and calculating.
"You should've run," he whispered one last time, his voice filled with quiet menace.
The thief's eyes were wide with panic, his every step fueled by the primal instinct to escape. His breaths were ragged, his mind clouded by doubt, and all he could think was getting away—from Ronan, from the tension in the air, from the whispers that had unsettled him so deeply.
He turned and bolted, his feet pounding the earth as he fled toward the shadows, hoping to disappear into the dark.
But Ronan's body felt like lead. His side burned where the dagger had sliced him, and his head throbbed with exhaustion.
He reached out, trying to summon the power of [Whisper] again, but it was no use.
His spirituality had drained away completely, leaving him empty, the connection to his power slipping through his fingers like grains of sand.
"Dammit..." Ronan muttered, his voice barely audible, frustration leaking through.
He watched as the thief's form grew smaller in the distance. The brief moment of power he had wielded was gone, and with it, his ability to stop the thief.
He was powerless.
Then, something cold sparked in his mind. His gaze fell to the knife that had fallen to the ground, discarded after the initial struggle.
The sight of it was like a jolt of electricity, a reminder that he wasn't entirely helpless. He wasn't completely out of options.
The thief was nearly at the Fable now—Ronan's eyes sharpened. Ivaim had been watching from the shadows, unsure of what to make of the unfolding situation.
But Ronan's focus was singular. The thief had almost reached him, and Ronan knew he couldn't let him get any closer.
With a sudden, desperate movement, Ronan grabbed the knife.
The cold metal pressed against his palm, his fingers closing around the hilt with a grim sense of purpose. He didn't hesitate. He couldn't afford to.
Ronan hurled the knife with all the strength he had left.
It sliced through the air with deadly speed, its trajectory aimed at the thief's back.
The thief, sensing the motion, twisted his body in the nick of time, narrowly avoiding the strike. His reaction was fast—but just half a second too slow.
The knife veered off course, missing the thief entirely, and instead—
Thunk.
A deafening sound filled the space, and the next thing Ronan knew, everything was gone.
The thief's startled scream was the last thing he heard before the world around them collapsed into darkness.
In an instant, the room vanished, and Ronan felt himself being pulled, dragged into the unknown. His last thought before everything went black was the thief's horrified face.
First, darkness.
And then... a new world.