Chapter 3: Fangs of the Vultures

The city of Belovar was alight with chaos. The assassination of Senator Ralen Voss had spread through the streets like wildfire. By dawn, whispers filled every tavern, every market stall, and every alleyway. Voss’s death was no ordinary killing; it was a direct blow to the empire’s heart—a message written in blood, meant for those who understood the true stakes.

But for most of the city’s inhabitants, it was just another assassination. Nobles came and went, power shifted hands, and people lived their lives in the shadow of unseen forces.

For Cassian, the night’s events had been nothing short of a victory. He moved silently through the lower districts, the adrenaline from the kill still pulsing through his veins. The weight of his blade, now clean and hidden beneath his cloak, felt reassuring against his side. Voss’s death had been swift, surgical—just as Seren had taught him.

But even as the echoes of victory hummed through him, a deeper unease settled in Cassian’s chest.

This wasn’t the end. It was only the beginning.

By midday, Cassian had returned to a secluded corner of the city—The Black Fang Inn, a place he frequented when the shadows became too thick even for him. The inn was buried within the crooked streets of the mercantile quarter, an establishment known for its discretion, where whispers were traded as freely as gold.

Cassian pushed through the heavy wooden door, the dimly lit common room greeting him with a stale mix of ale and pipe smoke. The inn’s patrons barely glanced at him, lost in their own business, their eyes clouded with drink and fatigue.

At the far corner of the room sat Seren, his hood pulled low, obscuring most of his face. Cassian approached and slid into the seat opposite him. The fire crackled in the hearth nearby, casting flickering shadows across the assassin’s face.

“The city’s ablaze,” Seren said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Voss’s death sent ripples through the Circle.”

Cassian leaned back in his chair, scanning the room with his eyes while keeping his posture casual. “Good. That was the point.”

Seren’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “The Zeniths won’t take this lightly. Killing one of their most influential pawns... you’ve stirred a hornet’s nest.”

“I didn’t kill Voss for the Zeniths,” Cassian replied coolly, his voice low. “I killed him because he was part of the Circle.”

“The two are one and the same,” Seren said, leaning forward. “The Zenith family might hold power, but the Circle of the Vultures is what keeps them untouchable. By taking out Voss, you’ve drawn the attention of something far more dangerous.”

Cassian narrowed his eyes, the embers of doubt flickering to life in his mind. He had heard enough rumors about the Circle to know they were no ordinary conspiracy—they were a web of power, with tendrils that reached into every corner of the empire. Nobles, military leaders, merchants—all were under their sway.

“How long before they retaliate?” Cassian asked, his voice as steady as ever, but his instincts already on high alert.

Seren’s gaze hardened. “They won’t strike directly. Not yet. They’ll test you first—find your weaknesses, expose them, and exploit them. You’ll never see the attack coming until it’s too late.”

Cassian’s mind raced through the possibilities. If the Circle was as powerful as Seren said, they wouldn’t rely on brute force. They would strike where it hurt the most—his family, his remaining allies, his reputation.

Trust no one.

“What do you suggest?” Cassian asked, keeping his tone neutral but knowing Seren would have anticipated his question.

Seren’s fingers traced the edge of his tankard, his eyes glinting with something unreadable. “You need to disappear for a while. Lay low until the storm passes.”

Cassian felt a flicker of something—was it doubt? He had trusted Seren for years, ever since the assassin had found him lurking in the shadows of his family’s estate. But as the stakes grew higher, so did his suspicions. There was something about the way Seren always knew more than he let on, always seemed a step ahead, that gnawed at Cassian’s instincts.

“I’ve disappeared enough,” Cassian said, his voice firm. “I’m not running. Not from the Zeniths, and not from the Circle.”

Seren’s expression remained impassive, but there was a subtle shift in the air—a tension that hadn’t been there moments before.

“You’re not running,” Seren echoed, his voice suddenly colder, “but you’re not ready to face them head-on either. If you keep moving forward without a plan, they’ll crush you. This isn’t just about revenge anymore, Cassian. The Circle will play the long game, and they always win.”

Cassian stared at his mentor, feeling the unease inside him grow. Something about Seren’s words felt off. The assassin had always been pragmatic, calculating, but now there was an edge to his tone—a warning that sounded too much like control.

“I’ll deal with them on my own terms,” Cassian said quietly, his fingers brushing the hidden blade beneath his cloak.

Seren’s gaze darkened, his lips tightening into a thin line. “You’re making a mistake.”

Cassian stood, his decision already made. “Maybe. But it’s my mistake to make.”

For a moment, neither spoke. The fire in the hearth crackled softly, and the low murmur of the inn’s patrons filled the silence. Seren’s eyes followed Cassian as he turned to leave, but the older assassin said nothing more.

As Cassian stepped out into the alleyway, the midday sun cast long shadows across the cobblestones. The tension from his conversation with Seren still clung to him, but he pushed it aside. He couldn’t afford doubt right now—not when the real threat was still out there.

The next day, the city remained restless. Whispers of Cassian’s kill spread like wildfire, but in the circles that mattered—the circles of power—the message was clear: the wolf had tasted blood, and he would not stop until his prey lay dead.

Cassian made his way to the heart of the Lower Quarter, where the tangled web of alleyways hid countless secrets. His contact—an information broker named Kara—operated out of an old, abandoned watchtower at the edge of the quarter. Kara was known for her discretion, and more importantly, her loyalty to no one but herself. If anyone could provide Cassian with the information he needed on the Circle, it was her.

The streets were quieter than usual, as if the city itself was holding its breath, waiting for the storm that would inevitably follow Voss’s assassination. Cassian moved through the shadows, his hood pulled low over his face, every sense on high alert.

When he reached the watchtower, he found the door already ajar—a bad sign.

His hand went instinctively to his dagger as he slipped inside, his eyes scanning the dimly lit interior. The air was thick with the scent of damp stone and dust. He moved silently up the spiral staircase, his footsteps barely more than a whisper.

At the top of the stairs, the door to Kara’s quarters was wide open.

Cassian’s heart sank.

Inside, the room was in disarray. Papers were scattered across the floor, the furniture overturned, as if someone had torn through the place in a desperate search for something.

And there, slumped against the wall, was Kara—her eyes wide, lifeless.

A thin line of blood trickled from the corner of her mouth, staining the front of her dark leather coat. Cassian knelt beside her, his fingers gently touching the cold skin of her neck. The killing blow had been swift—a single stab to the heart. Clean. Professional.

This wasn’t random.

Kara had been targeted. And if they had gotten to her…

Cassian’s mind raced. The Circle had moved faster than he’d anticipated. They were already closing in, eliminating those who could provide him with information, isolating him before he could make his next move.

A chill ran down his spine.

As he stood, his eyes caught something—a symbol, scrawled hastily on the wall in blood.

A vulture, wings spread wide.

The Circle of the Vultures.

Cassian stared at the symbol, his hand tightening around the hilt of his dagger. The game had begun in earnest now, and the Circle wasn’t just sending a message. They were hunting him.

But as Cassian stood there, his gaze cold and calculating, something inside him shifted. The fear that had threatened to rise in his chest was replaced by a burning resolve. The Circle had made their first move, but they had underestimated him. They thought they could scare him into submission, break his resolve by killing those who aided him.

They were wrong.

Cassian wouldn’t run. He wouldn’t hide.

He would hunt them down, one by one, until the entire Circle lay broken at his feet.