The city of Vaelstrom lay cloaked in darkness, its narrow alleys slick with rain. In the heart of this shadowed world, a lone figure stood over a fallen target. Kael Veyne, the Phantom of Nightfall, had completed another contract.
He wiped his blade clean, his movements precise—efficient. The Nightfall Syndicate had trained him to be the perfect assassin. And for years, he had served without question.
But tonight, something felt… off.
A whisper of movement behind him. Too many footsteps. Too many shadows.
Kael's grip on his dagger tightened as figures emerged from the darkness—his own guild, masked and armed. A dozen of them, surrounding him in silence.
His sharp gaze settled on the one man who remained unmasked.
Dante Crow. The Grandmaster of the Nightfall Syndicate. His mentor. His leader.
"Kael," Dante said, stepping forward, his voice carrying a strange mix of admiration and regret. "You've always been our finest blade. Unmatched. Unstoppable. But even the sharpest weapons dull in time."
Kael's expression remained unreadable. He understood what this was. A purge.
"So, it's my turn, then?" he said, his voice calm, controlled.
Dante smiled faintly. "Nothing personal. Just business."
Kael had survived ambushes before. But this time, something was different. His body felt heavy. Sluggish. His breath quickened as a cold numbness crept into his veins.
The cut. He hadn't noticed it before, but a thin scratch on his arm burned with an unnatural sting.
Poison.
Kael staggered, dropping to one knee. His vision blurred. The world around him darkened.
Dante crouched beside him, lowering his voice. "Sleep, Phantom. If fate allows, perhaps we'll meet again."
The last thing Kael saw was the flickering lanternlight overhead.
Then—darkness.
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