A Visitor in the Night
The knocking continued, steady and unrelenting.
Eryndor remained still, his hand gripping his dagger. His instincts screamed at him—this wasn't normal.
A second passed. Then another.
The silence stretched.
Then—BOOM!
The door exploded inward, shattered into splinters. A shadowy figure lunged through the dust, a blade glinting in the dim candlelight.
Eryndor barely had time to react. He rolled off the bed, narrowly avoiding the strike aimed at his throat. The force of the attack split the wooden bedpost in two.
Fast. Too fast.
He sprang to his feet, dagger raised. His attacker stood in the ruined doorway—cloaked in darkness, but with an unmistakable presence.
"Not bad," the assassin said, their voice laced with amusement. "The last one underestimated you. I won't make that mistake."
Eryndor's eyes narrowed. Another one. But this time, he felt something different. A suffocating aura surrounded this assassin. Strong. Calculated. Deadly.
This wasn't just a hired blade. This was an executioner.
---
A Battle of Blades
The assassin vanished.
No—too fast to track.
Eryndor's instincts screamed, and he barely twisted in time to block a strike aimed at his ribs. The impact sent shockwaves through his arm, nearly making him lose grip of his weapon.
Not good.
He struck back, but his blade sliced through empty air.
The assassin was already behind him.
A sharp pain lanced through his shoulder as a dagger grazed his skin. Eryndor stumbled back, biting down a curse. He couldn't match this speed.
His mind raced. Fighting head-on was suicide.
He needed to change the flow of battle.
---
A Desperate Counterattack
Eryndor exhaled, forcing his body to move despite the pain. He shifted his stance, loosening his grip on the dagger.
The assassin smirked. "Giving up already?"
Eryndor's eyes stayed locked on his opponent. Waiting. Calculating.
The assassin lunged again—predictable.
At the last second, Eryndor twisted, redirecting the attack with the flat of his dagger. The assassin overextended.
Now.
Eryndor lashed out—his dagger slicing toward the assassin's exposed side.
A hiss of pain.
A clean hit.
The assassin staggered back, a deep gash bleeding through their cloak. But instead of retreating, they laughed.
"Interesting." Their voice dripped with excitement. "No wonder they want you dead so badly."
Before Eryndor could respond, the assassin's form blurred—disappearing into the shadows.
Silence returned.
Eryndor's breathing was ragged, his muscles tense.
Was it over?
No. This wasn't a retreat.
This was a message.
---
A Hidden Observer
From a nearby rooftop, a pair of golden eyes watched the scene unfold.
The cloaked figure smirked to themselves, intrigued.
"He survived again."
They turned away, their cloak billowing in the wind.
It seems Eryndor's fate is far more interesting than they had thought.