The blade gleamed like liquid silver under the lantern light. Along its surface, tiny runes shimmered faintly. The basket guard curled into elegant spirals.

Roderic handed it to Auren. "Here. Your own blade. Light as a feather, strong as a promise."

Auren held it reverently. The grip felt perfect in his hand, balanced so precisely that the rapier seemed to float.

"Thank you," he whispered.

Roderic crossed his arms. "Don't thank me yet. We'll test it tomorrow. For real."

Auren gulped. "Test it... how?"

Roderic's grin was wicked. "You'll see."

The chill of dawn crept slowly through the narrow streets of Northbound, slipping past shuttered windows and tangled alleyways. The sky was a pale gray smear, and faint mist clung low to the cobblestones, curling between the uneven stones like ghostly fingers. Even the air felt heavier, as if the city itself was holding its breath—waiting. Auren's boots echoed softly on the frost-slick stones as he walked beside Roderic, their breaths forming thin clouds that dissolved into the stillness.

Roderic's face was set in a hard line, eyes sharper than usual. "Ready for the real test?" he asked, voice low but steady. His hand rested lightly on the bronze rapier at his side, the metal catching the dim light.

Auren swallowed, tightening his grip on the leather sword-belt he'd crafted himself. "I am," he said, though his throat felt dry, and his voice carried a nervous edge.

They reached the valley just outside the city—a familiar clearing framed by skeletal trees and scattered boulders, a place where they often practiced their blades. The frost had begun to melt under the weak sunlight, leaving patches of slick mud and damp grass.

Roderic drew his rapier smoothly, the blade whispering as it slid from its scabbard. "Let's see if all that training paid off."

They circled each other slowly, feet crunching softly on frost-hardened earth. The first strikes were cautious, a dance of steel and shadow, but then their blades clashed with growing force. Sparks flew as their weapons met, ringing out in the cold air. Auren's breath came faster, muscles burning with effort.

"Slower, Auren!" Roderic teased, flashing a rare grin as he pressed an attack.

"Maybe I'm saving you from my full strength," Auren shot back, ducking under a quick thrust. He let out a breathless laugh, despite the tension.

Roderic snorted. "Save it for someone who hasn't seen you cry over spilling your soup."

Auren's ears turned red. "That was one time!"

They both laughed, the sound echoing off the valley walls, a bright spark in the cold morning.

Then, without warning, a shadow dropped from the edge of the trees into the clearing.

The assassin.

Auren barely had time to register the glint of a dagger before the world exploded into chaos.

Roderic lunged forward, but the assassin was faster—a blur of motion and cold steel. A sharp, sickening rasp echoed as the blade tore through flesh and bone.

Auren's eyes widened in horror as blood spattered in a brilliant arc, droplets shining like rubies in the dawn light. Roderic's left arm was severed cleanly at the elbow, falling to the ground with a wet thud.

Roderic screamed—a raw, guttural sound of pain and disbelief—as he crumpled to one knee, clutching the stump where his arm had been moments before.

Time seemed to fracture into shards of glass. Auren stood frozen, paralyzed by shock and helplessness. His vision tunneled toward Roderic's bloodied sleeve, the crimson stain spreading over the frost-bitten ground.

The assassin glanced back once, dark eyes glinting with cruel satisfaction, before vanishing into the thickening woods.

Roderic's voice cracked, urgent and desperate. "Auren! Get help! Now!"

But Auren remained rooted, the bitter taste of fear flooding his mouth.

By the time he forced himself to move, the valley was already echoing with Roderic's groans. Roderic was rushed away by the medics, his face pale but his jaw set with fierce determination.

Back at the forge, Auren sat in stunned silence, the bronze rapier laid across his knees like an accusation. The metal was cold against his trembling fingers.

George entered quietly, pausing in the doorway. The guard's broad frame blocked the winter draft, his eyes full of wary concern. He crossed the room and placed a firm hand on Auren's shoulder. "You fought bravely. Roderic's alive because of you."

Auren shook his head, his gaze fixed on the scuffed floor. "I didn't stop it. I was useless."

George gave him a brief, steady look, then finally nodded and stepped away. "I'll keep watch tonight," he said. A moment later, the door closed behind him with a solid thud, leaving Auren alone in the dim glow of the forge.

Later that night, shadows spilled across the narrow streets like ink. Auren sat by the window, staring into the empty dark. On the table beside him lay a wooden plate with crumbs of rice and the leather baldric he'd crafted for his rapier. He reached out, fingers tracing the stitching, then lifted it and buckled it snugly across his chest.

He rose and grabbed the bronze rapier from its resting place beside the door.

Outside, the silence was unnatural. George, who had sworn to stand watch, was gone. The spot where the guard usually leaned against the wall was empty, leaving only the whisper of wind between the houses. The door clicked shut behind Auren as he stepped out, tension tightening every muscle.

He began running, feet pounding the cobblestones, breath fogging in front of him. The night around him was hushed yet alive—each sound crisp as crystal.

But halfway through the winding streets, something strange happened.

The world seemed to lurch.

Auren's body surged forward as though his very blood had caught fire. The lantern glow stretched into blurred streaks. People in the street slowed to a crawl. A merchant raising a cloth to cover his stall moved as if wading through syrup. A dog leaping for a tossed scrap of bread seemed suspended mid-air, fur frozen in time. Even the flickering flames of torches hung still, each tongue of fire unmoving.

In the hush, Auren's footsteps became a rapid staccato, echoing off the stone walls. The wind lashed against his face as he raced forward, weaving between unmoving shapes like a darting shadow. He felt weightless, as though the world had released him from its grip.

He bolted through the southern gate, leaving behind a city caught in a single, suspended heartbeat.

Then, just as abruptly, time snapped back to normal.

He burst into the forest's edge, the branches trembling in the wake of his arrival. The air was sharp with the scent of pine and cold earth. Moonlight broke through the canopy in silver beams, casting the undergrowth in shifting patterns of shadow.

There he was.

The assassin stood beneath a frost-laden branch, his tattered brown robe hanging from thin shoulders, eyes dark and watchful. In his right hand, the dagger caught glints of moonlight—the same blade that had severed Roderic's arm.

Auren slowed to a halt, his breath quick and harsh, the bronze rapier sliding free with a smooth, metallic hiss.

The assassin turned fully toward him, surprise flashing in his eyes.

The forest fell silent. No rustling branches, no distant night-birds. Just the heavy thump of two human hearts in the dark.

Auren stepped forward, the weight of everything he'd lost burning behind his eyes. His voice came low, like ice cracking across a lake. "You dared raise your blade against the brother of the only person I loved. Now feel the weight of mine. Know that death hunts you wearing my face."

"I—I was only paid to do a job," the assassin stammered, voice trembling as he shrank back. "I didn't know he mattered to someone like you... Please... don't kill me..."

"I—I swear I'll tell you who paid me—"

Auren's arm blurred.

A single, precise thrust drove the rapier forward, and a clean hole opened in the assassin's tongue. A spray of dark blood speckled the snow-dusted leaves. The assassin fell to his knees, eyes wide with shock and agony, clutching at his mouth as blood poured between his fingers.

Silent screams twisted his face, but no sound came out except a faint wet gurgle. His dagger slipped from his trembling hand, landing in the pine needles with a soft thud.

Auren took another step closer, shadows clinging to his form. His free hand lifted as he pinched the air as though grasping something invisible. Slowly, a red, shimmering thread appeared, stretching from his fingers to the assassin's chest—a fragile line, trembling like a spider's silk.

He clenched his fist. "Disappear."

The thread shattered into fragments of black smoke.

In an instant, the assassin's body withered inward, flesh and bone crumbling to ash. His form seemed to scream without sound as it folded into nothingness. Ash scattered across the forest floor, leaving no trace behind but a faint burnt smell drifting on the night breeze.

Auren stood motionless for several heartbeats, the blood dripping from his rapier to speckle the snowy ground. Finally, he wiped the blade clean with a broad green leaf torn from a nearby bush. The leaf soaked red, veins glistening in the moonlight as he tossed it aside.

With slow steps, he turned and began the long walk back toward Northbound, the weight of what he had done pressing into his chest like iron.