Asha crouched in the rafters, her breath steady despite the icy wind creeping through the cracks of the old cathedral. Below her, laughter echoed off the stone walls. The man responsible for her family's massacre, Lord Garran Malvek, lounged in his gilded chair, surrounded by his sycophants. His goblet overflowed with dark wine, his voice a booming arrogance that made Asha's fingers tighten around the dagger in her grip.
She had waited for this night.
Seven years had turned a broken orphan into an assassin, her body honed into a weapon sharper than any blade. Malvek had taken everything from herāher mother, her father, the younger brother she'd failed to protect. In return, she had taken one thing from him at a time. The first kill was his steward, a slow poisoning that left Malvek's household in disarray. The second, his favored concubine, stolen in the night, her throat slit before dawn. Then his advisors, his guards, his alliesāone by one, until Malvek's empire bled from a thousand cuts.
And now, there was only him.
Asha dropped from the rafters, landing in a crouch on the table before Malvek. The feast crashed around her, goblets tipping, plates clattering. The lord's guests shrieked, scrambling away from the black-clad figure that had landed like a wraith among them.
Malvek reached for the sword at his hip, but Asha was faster.
The dagger found his wrist before he could draw, twisting deep into tendon and bone. He roared in pain, toppling back, his good hand clutching at the wound.
"Who dares?" he bellowed, his voice thick with wine and fury.
Asha stepped forward, her hood slipping back.
His eyes widened. "You."
"Yes, me."
Recognition dawned in his features, followed by something elseāfear. Asha saw it flicker beneath the years of arrogance and cruelty.
"I should have killed you when I had the chance," he snarled, clutching his bleeding wrist.
"You did," she said softly. "You killed the girl I was."
With a flick of her wrist, she sent another dagger slicing across the room. It embedded itself in the throat of the nearest guard, who had just begun to lunge for her. He gurgled, dropping lifelessly to the stone floor.
The others hesitated.
They had heard the stories. The Shadow of the East. The Ghost of the Fallen House. A myth whispered in dark corners, an assassin who killed without hesitation.
Malvek, ever the coward, scrambled to his feet. He was thick around the middle now, years of indulgence softening the brute force he had once wielded. But still, he tried to run.
Asha was on him before he reached the exit, driving him back against the stone pillar with the force of her entire body. Her dagger pressed against his throat, the tip biting into flesh.
"You remember what you did?" she whispered.
His breath was ragged, the stink of wine and fear pouring from his mouth. "It was a long time ago. You can'tā"
"I can."
She let him see the truth in her eyes, the years of pain, the sleepless nights, the names of the dead carved into her soul like scars.
Asha twisted the dagger, not enough to end him, just enough to make him tremble.
"This is for my mother."
She dragged the blade downward, a slow, deliberate cut along his arm, mirroring the wound he had given her mother before he let her bleed out.
"This is for my father."
Another slice, this time across his ribs, shallow but deep enough that he choked on his own scream.
She did not rush.
Revenge was not a single act. It was a ritual, a reckoning, a thousand small pains before the final breath.
Malvek sobbed, his bravado shattering like glass.
"I'm sorry," he gasped, tears streaking his sweat-drenched face.
Asha tilted her head, watching him.
"No, you're not."
And then, with a single, clean motion, she slid the dagger up beneath his ribs, into the heart of the man who had once torn hers apart.
Malvek shuddered, his mouth opening in a final, soundless gasp before his body sagged against her. She stepped back, letting him crumple to the floor, his blood pooling across the stones.
Silence settled over the great hall. The nobles and guards who remained did not move, did not breathe.
Asha wiped her blade clean, her hands steady.
For the first time in seven years, she felt light.
She turned without a word and disappeared into the night, leaving only death in her wake.