The city burned.
Flames lapped at the heavens, creating long, squirming shadows on the blood-backed walls.
The smell of burning flesh mixed with the coppery tang of spilled blood, heavy in the air like a funeral shroud.
The paved lanes that had once thronged with traders and beggars were now fasts of blood, bodies like towers of meat, butchers and cooks, limbs all bent wrong.
The carnage had only just begun.
Kael was at the heart of the havoc, slow and calculated on his breath.
His fingers ached, the fist of his twin daggers clenched tight and unrelenting, the blades dulled from years of slaughter.
The clothes were soaked in crimson, and they spoke to him of lives lost.
There was little choice but to counterattack. Shadowborne wanted him dead, and he was not dying quietly.
The guards who had charged through the city gates stopped in their tracks; their aim was good, but those resolves had shattered when met with what awaited them.
No man could have wrought such carnage.
But Kael was no normal person; his training under the best assassins groomed him for discipline year after year, and his need to survive became his ultimate motivation.
One of the guards, a captain in heavy chainmail, swallowed and stepped forward with his sword raised.
His voice cracked, but he shouted anyway.
"Kael Shadowborne! Surrender now, and it will be a quick death!"
Kael cocked his head, his expression unreadable.
And in an instant, he was gone.
Kael was upon the captain, and his blade flashed before the knife wielder could comprehend anything had happened. A single, clean strike.
Kael's dagger opened the captain's throat, and he gave a choked cry.
His hands shot up instinctively, as if to hold in the life pouring out of him, but it was no use.
He crumbled to his knees, then fell, eyes glassy.
The other guards turned to run.
Kael paused, taking slow breaths, enjoying their fear.
He raised his hand at that point, and almost reflexively, his hand flew with a throwing knife to the face of one guard; the tip struck directly through the back of the skull through the cobble, laying his body down on his face.
Another guard went down as his mate scrambled back to his feet, but Kael was already on him.
A slash through the femoral artery dropped him in a gasping, gurgling heap.
There was a rain of blood from the sky.
Hearts pounding, all were cold and calculating.
Each movement was exacting, each blow calculated for effectiveness.
This was not madness.
This was control.
The difference was that he got to choose when to kill.
They were killed because they were told to.
And then, between the carnage, something stirred.
A presence.
He froze, his muscles locked. He turned slowly, scanning the battlefield for an anomaly.
And then he saw it.
A figure at the far end of the blood-soaked street, unsoiled by the carnage, their cloak rustling with every gust of wind.
They wore a hood, which cast a shadow over the head, but it was the acid-thin slice of a single gleaming blade on their side that caught the eye.
"Kael Shadowborne," it called, voice even and frigid.
"You fight like a man who has nothing left to lose.
But tell me, how many corpses will I have to pile before you believe in the truth?"
Kael tightened his grip on his daggers.
"Who are you?"
The figure stepped forward. "Someone who understands your struggle.
Someone who knows what it means to challenge the path that's been set before you."
Kael's jaw locked. "You speak as if you know me. But I know only another foe."
"Perhaps." The figure pulled out a sword; the polished surface shined like a mirror in the heat of the blazing skies.
"Or maybe I'm the only one who can reveal to you what the Shadowborne have hidden from you."
Kael hesitated.
The carnage around him, the blood on his hands—it was all leading up to something, but he didn't know what yet. His entire life had been about following orders, and now there, for the first time, he was free.
But freedom brought uncertainty.
He rocked suddenly forward, bridging the distance with a deadly stride.
Kael hardly had time to deflect the first blow, his arms screaming from the impact.
This was no common soldier.
Their method was honed, each age-blurred motion smooth, each blow intended to probe his defenses.
Kael gritted his teeth. If this were another exam, he was not going to fail.
Steel kissed steel as they wove their way through the broken streets, a dance of lights, sparks glittering around them.
The fire burned, throwing sinister shadows on their duel.
Kael battled with every skill there was, but so did his opponent.
Then, a misstep.
Foot slipped on the blood-slicked ground, and in that instant, the blade found its way.
Steel bit into flesh, pain exploding through his side.
His breath hitched, and he instinctively took a step back, the world swimming in his vision for a second.
His opponent chose not to counter him. Instead, they lowered their sword a little, as if to wait.
"You're not beyond redemption, Kael," they said, voice softened now.
"But you have a choice now: will you remain on this path of blood, or will you discover the truth behind the Shadowborne's lies?"
Kael stood dazed, blood pouring from his wound. He was breathing à la Darth Vader.
Then, the city bell tolled.
Reinforcements.
His opponent pulled back their sword, stepping back into the haze.
"Come find me when you're ready to find out what they kept from you."
Before Kael could say another word, the figure dissolved into the darkness, leaving the boy bleeding, panting, and with more questions than answers.
But when the bells ceased echoing in the noise, Kael did, here, feel everything was just beginning.