Rain slithered down Kael’s collar, mixing with the blistered burns on his hands. The stench of the dead Fallen—like rotting eggs and scorched hair—clung to his soaked clothes, but it was the fresh blood pooling near his boots, warm and thick from the bartender’s slit throat, that truly turned his stomach.
Before he could speak, cold steel t his skin—a sickle, Lyria’s sickle—pressed firm against his throat.
"Move no further."
Kael froze, pulse steadying even as confusion knotted his brow.
"What’s the matter, little hawk?"
Dren’s voice slithered through the storm, venom-laced and mocking. "Missed ?"
Kael’s eyes sank to the blade in Dren’s hand. The jagged hilt. The cruel curve. The blood-washed ruby set into the guard—stolen from their first job together.
The sa blade that pierced his father. Left him in bed for days.
Dren flicked his wrist, and blood sprayed the stones between them. At his feet lay the bartender, throat slit so deep her spine glistened in the tavern light, her eyes frozen in shock. A sight enough to unmake the average man.
Kael’s fingers twitched. Slowly, he reached for the boot knife nearly lost in his earlier scuffle with the Fallen. Lyria’s sickle pressed tighter, her breath warm and warning against his ear.
"Move an inch further, and I’ll save him the trouble." Lyria said, loosening her grip she whispered —just hold still idiot.
"Feisty," Dren chuckled, flicking sothing into the mud.
A silver locket.
It cracked open like a gutted fish, revealing the faded image inside.
"Mom’s...?" Kael whispered, voice cracking under disbelief—The silver was tarnished, but Kael would know that engraving anywhere—his mother’s laugh etched into the tal. Stirring with emotions "leave mom out of this, she better be okay Dren else—"
"—dont kael, not now"
"The Harbinger’s got questions," Dren said coldly. "About what your father stole. And unlike , he doesn’t ask twice."
The shadows behind Dren shifted, silhouettes forming in the rain. Too many to count.
The Guild had sent a hunting party.
Kael’s voice ca low and sharp.
"Still licking boots for the Guild, huh? Thought you’d get a promotion after stabbing my old man."
He leaned into Lyria’s blade, daring her to finish the job.
"You gonna let him stick one in my back too, witch? Or was that the plan all along?"
Dren growled, twin blades twitching in his grasp.
"It worked," Kael muttered, a grin crawling onto his lips.
He stomped on Lyria’s foot—not enough to hurt, just enough to break her hold—and kicked the locket into a sewer grate.
"Tell the Harbinger to ask himself."
Dren moved fast, almost a blur, his blade already mid-arc. But Kael ducked low, years of brutal training kicking in, the boot knife finally in his hand.
"Thought I was supposed to be questioned, not gutted!"
"Pardon my hand," Dren replied, eyes gleaming. "Forgot I’m not allowed to kill you. Yet."
"Then I guess I’d better take this seriously."
"With a boot knife?" Dren sneered.
"Let’s find out."
Steel clashed, sparks flew. The alley echoed with the harsh rhythm of battle. Each blow more violent than the last. Kael, fast but cornered. Dren, precise and rciless.
From the sidelines, Lyria watched, unreadable.
"The fool’s barely holding his own. How far the mighty have fallen."
As Kael reeled back, Dren raised both blades for the final strike—until silver light split the air.
Lyria’s sickles.
The moonlight glead off her blades as she stood between them.
"What’s the aning of this, Lyria!?" Dren snarled.
"Run for the woods, Kael!"
"Hey—answer , dammit!"
"I’m not leaving you behind again."
"Just do as I say... for once, you fool."
She gave him a faint, fleeting smile.
Their eyes locked, crimson eting storm-grey. Then Kael ran.
"After him—now!" Dren barked.
But when he turned, his reinforcents lay sprawled on the ground—eyes wide, limbs bound by invisible threads.
"I see," he muttered. "You cast a binding spell under the cover of moonlight. Still full of tricks."
"Complints from you an less than dirt."
"So, that little betrayal was just business, then?"
"Information trade. Nothing more."
Dren stood, twirling his blade.
"Now that you’ve let him go... planning to take on?"
"That would be a waste of ti."
"A sha. I always hoped to face soone with beauty and skill—your kind of dangerous."
His eyes drifted to the torn hem of her cloak, upper thigh exposed.
"If I were you, I’d report back to the Harbinger. Ohh and be sure to tell him to send better skilled assassin’s after if he really wants to kill "
"Hmmm fine I will. But next ti we cross paths..."
He leaned in, voice low and feral.
"I’ll be harvesting those eyes of yours."
With that, Dren vanished into the shadows.
The storm quieted. Rain faded. The wind hushed. Only frogs croaked softly from the bushes.
Kael sat alone, haunted and hurting.
So many questions.
But one thought echoed louder than the rest.
"Sorry, Mom. Sorry I dragged you into this..."
A voice broke through the stillness.
"Thought you’d be long gone by now, little hawk."
Lyria smirked.
"Don’t call that."
"Why does Dren keep calling you that?"
"Long story."
"You two go way back, huh?"
"Sort of."
"Don’t go getting soft on now. You show up, all smiles... then try to slit my throat."
Lyria went quiet.
"I need answers."
"It’s late. Tend your wounds. We’ll talk at first light."
She dropped down onto a flat rock beside him.
"Why do you get the rock? I was here first."
"Chivalry, idiot."
"Chivalry’s got nothing to do with this."
"It does when I’m the lady. I can’t sleep on filthy leaves. My skin’s delicate."
"You’re impossible..."
"Worse, they might end up in my breasts," she teased, pressing her arms together dramatically.
"You know how I treasure these lons."
"Don’t... don’t do that in front of , dammit!" Kael stamred, blushing hard.
"If I didn’t know better, I’d say you already ravished with your eyes."
"Just shut up and sleep."
He looked away, red from brow to neck.
"After all you owe for that stomp earlier "
They kept talking for a while—low, tired voices—until Kael finished wrapping his wounds. Then silence.
The moon watched from above as the two of them finally drifted to sleep beneath its pale, indifferent light.
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