Exile is the cruelest teacher. The first few days after the gates of Anemoria closed behind him were a haze of suffering. Viren, the Broken Kestrel, learned of a hunger that gnawed at his bones, of a cold that crept under roughspun clothes and never truly left. He learned that the world cared nothing for a noble name or bloodline. Hands that were once only accustomed to holding a sword became calloused from menial labor, and eyes that once held a noble's light became sharp and wary like those of a wild animal. He fought, he stole, and he survived, letting his hatred be the only fire that kept him warm on frozen nights.
Now, in the relative warmth of the Veritas headquarters, Viren stared at the leather folder in his hands. The information Juro had given him should have been a relief, a vindication. But all he felt was a deeper, colder layer of suspicion.
He sat alone in his spartan room, replaying Juro's every word in his mind. Protection? Sacrifice? The words felt alien, like a language from another world. For eighteen years, his every action had been judged, his every weakness exploited, his every emotion treated as a flaw. And now he was supposed to believe it was all an elaborate act for his safety?
Or is this just another lie? he thought, his eyes narrowing. Maybe this information came from them too. Maybe this is their way of using me again, turning me into a pawn in their disgusting game. They already threw me away once. What's to stop them from doing it again?
Trust was not something that could be easily replanted once it had been ripped out by the roots. Viren made a decision. He would go to Anemoria. Not to save his parents or to get revenge on the Circle of Silent Wind. He would go to find his own truth, with his own eyes. He would no longer be anyone's pawn.
The next morning, he stood in the briefing room. Juro and Lyra were already waiting. Beside them stood a man Viren had never seen before. He looked to be Viren's age, perhaps a little older, with jet-black hair that contrasted with his pale skin. A thin smile that never reached his dark eyes played on his lips.
"Viren, meet your partner for this mission," Juro said. "His name is Zane. He is one of the 'Index Fingers' of our elite unit."
The 'Finger' unit. Viren had heard rumors about them. The five deadliest agents in Veritas, each a specialist in their field. They were the five fingers of Veritas's shadowy hand.
Zane stepped forward, looking Viren up and down. "So this is the prince who lost his kingdom? I hope you're not a liability."
"Just focus on your mission, and I won't be," Viren replied coldly.
Zane let out a small, humorless laugh. "Oh, I like this one. Got some fire." He turned to Juro. "So, what's the play?"
"The play just got a lot more dangerous," Juro said, his expression grave. He spread a map of Anemoria on the table and placed several reports on top of it. "The information about the 'Circle of Silent Wind' was just the tip of the iceberg. Our latest intel from the border reports unusual, large-scale smuggling activity."
Juro pointed to several routes on the map. "Not just weapons. They're smuggling large quantities of forbidden magical artifacts, and worse... slaves. Hundreds of people from remote villages have disappeared without a trace. We suspect they're not being sold, but gathered."
A chill ran down Viren's spine. "For what?"
"A ritual, though that's just speculation," Juro answered curtly. "An ancient ritual that requires mass sacrifice to awaken a power that should have remained buried forever, or perhaps an embodiment of power from the goddess Ba'al. If the Circle of Silent Wind succeeds, they won't just trigger a civil war, they could cause a genocide and unleash a catastrophe that would endanger the entire continent. The balance will be shattered."
Juro looked at them both sharply. "Your mission is no longer just reconnaissance. You must confirm the existence of this ritual, find its location, and if our suspicions are correct... you must stop it, by any means necessary. That's why Zane is with you. This mission cannot fail."
"And if something goes wrong?" Zane asked, his smile widening slightly, as if he enjoyed the rising stakes.
"Improvise," Juro replied. "Viren, you're the guide. Your knowledge of Anemoria is crucial. Zane, you're the spearhead. Make sure this mission is completed."
The journey back to his homeland felt strange. Viren moved through familiar forests and mountains, but now he saw them with the eyes of an intruder. Every pine tree, every rock formation, was a potential hiding spot or ambush point.
They moved for two days without incident. Zane was an efficient partner. He didn't talk much, but his every movement was purposeful. He and Viren moved in a tense synchronization, two predators wary of each other but forced to hunt together.
On the third night, as they approached a remote checkpoint, they saw it: a patrol of four Anemorian knights, resting near a campfire.
"We can go around," Viren whispered, his instincts telling him to avoid an unnecessary confrontation.
Zane looked at him, his eyes glinting in the dark. "Going around will take six hours. Or... we could make a shortcut in six seconds."
Before Viren could reply, Zane was already moving. He shot out from behind the rocks like a phantom, a dagger in each hand. The first soldier fell without a sound, a silently thrown dagger embedded in his throat. The second soldier turned in surprise, only to be met by Zane who was already behind him, a quick twist breaking his neck with a sickening CRACK.
The remaining two soldiers finally realized what was happening and drew their swords. Viren swore and was forced out of hiding, preparing for a fight. He faced one of the soldiers, parrying his attack, trying to find a way to disable him without killing him. The memory of Redstone still haunted him. That hesitation nearly cost him as his opponent's sword managed to graze his arm.
While he was busy holding off his opponent, he heard a SWISH and a THUD behind him. The third soldier fell with a dagger between his eyes. Zane now stood beside Viren, casually wiping the blood from his dagger.
The last soldier, seeing all his comrades killed in seconds, dropped his sword and trembled in fear, tears streaming down his face. "Please... I have a family..."
Viren looked at the terrified soldier, then at Zane. "We can interrogate him. Let him go."
Zane shrugged, then in a blur of motion, he was in front of the soldier and had slit his throat. Blood sprayed onto the white snow.
"Why did you do that?!" Viren snapped, anger and disgust churning inside him.
Zane looked at him, his thin smile returning. "He would have slowed us down. Besides, I don't like leaving witnesses. Family? That's just a weakness the enemy can exploit." He patted Viren's shoulder. "You think too much, Prince. They were wearing the enemy's uniform. That's enough."
Zane walked past the bodies without a second glance, as if they were just trash on the side of the road. Viren stood frozen, staring at the efficient brutality. He realized that his new partner had no hesitation whatsoever when it came to killing. Zane didn't kill out of necessity or anger. He killed like he breathed.
And for the first time, Viren felt that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't the most broken one of the two.