The night was far from over.
Aedric and his companions moved swiftly through the narrow streets of Velmire, keeping to the shadows as they made their way back to their hideout. The battle with the warlocks had left them drained, but there was no time to rest. They had struck first, and now Gorran would retaliate.
As they turned a corner, Garron raised a hand, signaling the group to stop. He crouched low, his sharp eyes scanning the street ahead.
"Guards," he muttered.
Aedric peered past him and saw a patrol of city watchmen gathered near a well-lit plaza. They weren't moving with their usual sluggishness—these men were alert, their hands resting on their swords, their eyes darting between the alleyways.
"They know something's wrong," Seris whispered.
Lirian exhaled, gripping his sword tightly. "If they saw the magic, they'll start locking down the district."
Aedric frowned. "We can't afford to be caught now. We need another route."
Garron scanned the buildings, his mind working quickly. "There's an abandoned tannery two streets over. If we cut through it, we can reach the hideout without crossing the main road."
Tessa nodded. "Then we move."
They stayed low, slipping through the darkness like phantoms. Velmire was a city accustomed to crime, but tonight was different. The usual chaos of drunken brawls and back-alley dealings had been replaced with an eerie silence. The people of Velmire could sense it—something dangerous was happening.
By the time they reached the tannery, the air was thick with the stench of old leather and chemicals. The building had long since fallen into disrepair, its wooden beams rotting, the walls covered in mold.
Garron pushed open the door cautiously, and they slipped inside.
"Stay quiet," Aedric murmured.
They moved carefully through the building, stepping over broken crates and rusted tools. The tannery's main hall was large and open, with a collapsed ceiling that allowed the moonlight to filter through. It was the perfect place for an ambush.
Aedric felt a chill run down his spine.
Something was wrong.
His instincts screamed at him a second too late.
The first arrow struck the wooden beam near his head. The second one grazed his shoulder.
"Ambush!" Seris shouted.
Figures emerged from the shadows, cloaked in dark robes. They weren't warlocks, but assassins—trained killers wielding daggers and crossbows.
Gorran's men.
Aedric cursed under his breath. The warlocks had only been the first wave. Gorran had anticipated their escape route.
Garron moved first, throwing a dagger with deadly accuracy. It found its mark in an assassin's throat, dropping him instantly.
Lirian drew his sword and met an attacker head-on, their blades clashing in the dim light. Seris and Tessa took cover, loosing arrows at the enemy while Aedric ducked behind a stack of crates.
His mind raced. They were outnumbered, and in the open, they wouldn't last long.
He had to turn the fight in their favor.
His eyes darted to the wooden rafters above. If he could get to higher ground…
Without hesitation, Aedric climbed onto a pile of crates and leapt onto a hanging beam. The structure creaked beneath his weight, but it held. From his vantage point, he could see the entire battlefield.
He drew a throwing knife and aimed carefully.
One assassin fell. Then another.
But there were too many.
Garron was holding his own, but even he was being pushed back. Lirian had taken a wound to the side, and Tessa was running low on arrows.
Aedric gritted his teeth.
Then he saw him.
A figure standing in the shadows near the entrance, watching the fight unfold.
Unlike the other assassins, he wasn't attacking. He was observing.
The leader.
Aedric's grip tightened on his dagger.
He had one chance.
With a steady breath, he leapt from the rafters, his blade aimed for the man's throat.
The assassin leader moved at the last second, twisting away, but Aedric's blade still found its mark—slicing across his arm.
The man hissed in pain, his other hand lashing out with a dagger of his own. Aedric barely dodged, rolling to the side as the blade cut through the air where his head had been.
"Impressive," the assassin muttered, his voice calm despite the chaos. "But reckless."
Aedric didn't respond. He lunged forward, their blades clashing in a deadly dance.
The assassin was fast—faster than any fighter Aedric had faced before. But Aedric had fought in the streets his entire life. He knew how to read an opponent's movements, how to turn their strength against them.
He feinted left, then struck low.
The assassin dodged—but not fast enough.
Aedric's dagger plunged into his gut.
The man gasped, his body stiffening.
Aedric twisted the blade. "Tell Gorran—" he whispered, his voice cold. "I'm coming for him."
The assassin's body slumped to the ground.
The rest of the assassins hesitated. Without their leader, their formation fell apart.
Garron took advantage of the opening, cutting through another enemy. Seris and Lirian followed suit, pressing the attack.
Within minutes, the remaining assassins were either dead or fleeing into the night.
A heavy silence settled over the tannery.
Aedric wiped his blade clean, his breaths coming fast. His shoulder ached from the earlier wound, but he ignored it.
Garron approached him, eyeing the body at his feet. "You took down their leader."
Aedric nodded. "They won't recover from this easily."
Seris sheathed her sword. "We need to move. More will come."
Lirian winced as he pressed a hand to his bleeding side. "This is just the beginning, isn't it?"
Aedric looked toward the city beyond the tannery walls.
Velmire was on the verge of war.
And he would be the one to win it.