The moon hung high in the night sky as Kael slipped out of the Black Fortress, trailing Sorin and a small band of Ironblood raiders. The air was crisp, the path lit only by faint starlight and the glow of distant torches.
The mission was straightforward.
A caravan would be passing through the narrow canyon to the north.
The Ironbloods would ambush it, slaughter the merchants, and claim the cargo.
Simple. Brutal. Efficient.
But Kael wasn't here to take orders.
He was here to change the rules.
Kael's plan was risky. He couldn't take down the Ironbloods on his own, not yet. But he didn't need to—not if he found someone with just as much to gain from their downfall.
If the caravan had guards, then someone had anticipated the attack. And if someone was waiting for an ambush, it meant they likely had their own reasons to hate the Ironbloods.
Kael just needed to wait for the right moment.
That's when he saw it.
Fresh tracks in the dirt.
Wagon wheels veering off the main trail.
The caravan already knew about the ambush.
They had a plan of their own.
Kael's lips curled into a faint smirk. Sorin, leading the group ahead, didn't notice a thing. The man was too confident, striding forward with a swagger that suggested he'd never been caught off guard in his life.
He had no idea what was about to happen.
Kael said nothing, letting the plan unfold.
The Ironbloods took up their positions on the cliffs overlooking the canyon, crouched behind jagged rocks, bows at the ready. They waited.
But the caravan never came.
Instead, the silence was broken by a sharp, unmistakable sound.
The whistle of an arrow cutting through the night.
A dull thud. One of the Ironbloods toppled over, a shaft buried in his throat.
Panic erupted.
Sorin spun around, eyes wide. "What—"
Another arrow. Another death.
Kael didn't move. He stood still, his blade untouched at his side, watching as chaos erupted around him.
The Ironbloods were no longer the hunters. They were the hunted.
Figures emerged from the darkness, clad in light armor that barely made a sound as they moved. Blades glinted in the moonlight, precise and lethal.
Assassins.
Kael remained calm, even as the bodies fell around him. He waited, watching.
And then one of them noticed him.
The man was tall, his golden eyes gleaming in the shadow of a dark hood. His movements were deliberate, calculated, as he stopped a few paces from Kael and studied him.
"You don't look like one of them," the man said, his voice low and measured.
Kael allowed himself a small smile. "Maybe because I'm not."
The assassin tilted his head, considering the response.
There was a moment of silence between them, heavy with unspoken intent.
And then the real game began.