With a low rustle that stirred the dead silence of the room, the warden's body collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut—
*THUD!
falling forward with a loud, resounding thud that echoed throughout the chamber.
His thick coat folded beneath him as viscous, dark crimson blood flowed freely from the gaping wound in his neck, pooling across the pristine floor like a slow-moving shadow.
The surface beneath his face became soaked in red, the glossy liquid reflecting the room's dim lighting.
His eyes remained open—glassy and vacant—yet still frozen in the same expression of confusion and disbelief, as if his soul hadn't fully caught up with what had just happened to his body.
There was a stillness to the way he laid, twisted and crumpled, his face contorted with a mix of pain, anger, and the cruel surprise of a death he didn't see coming.
*rrrrrriip!
A harsh, sharp sound sliced the tense air—a tearing of cloth, precise and deliberate—as the assassin reached down without pause and ripped a length of fabric from the coat of the lifeless warden.
She wrapped it around the gleaming blade of her dagger, and in one slow, fluid motion, she wiped the blood from its surface, the red soaking into the dark fabric.
The cloth hit the floor with a soft flutter once she was done, discarded without a second thought.
Her every movement was cold, efficient, and oddly elegant, like someone who had done this so many times it had become second nature—like art to her.
Then, in an act that made the air grow heavier, she knelt beside the body, raising one hand over it with her fingers splayed out like claws.
Her lips parted, and from them came a string of words that seemed not to belong to any living tongue.
They were guttural, ancient, layered with weight and power:
"Vikz kaver, ine' krevor moraita."
Her voice reverberated slightly, as though the very syllables themselves stirred the latent energies around her.
Black mist—dark and alive—began to rise from her fingers like smoke from an unseen fire.
It slithered and snaked through the air before coiling around the warden's corpse, wrapping around his limbs, his face, his entire form in slow, deliberate spirals.
The mist coiled tighter and tighter with each passing second, like serpents strangling their prey, until the entire body was engulfed in a dense cocoon of dark energy.
Then, without warning, the assassin clenched her hand into a fist.
*fwoosh!
The mist convulsed violently, surging inward in a sudden collapse.
The warden's body vanished—completely, utterly—consumed by the dark mist as if he had never existed in the first place.
Not even his blood remained on the floor.
The puddle was gone.
No bones, no clothing scraps, not even a single hair was left behind.
Just a cold emptiness, as if death itself had wiped him clean from the world.
Jinn could only stare.
His mouth was slightly parted, his eyes wide.
He was speechless, unable to process what he had just witnessed with his own eyes.
All the stories he had heard from Nevi, stories about strange and mythical powers—he had thought them exaggerations. But now, seeing it unfold before him, he realized how little he truly knew about the universe.
This was no tale whispered to scare children—this was real, and terrifying.
His body tensed as the assassin, now finished with her ritual, turned her head and locked eyes with him.
Her gaze was unreadable, cold and sharp, yet not entirely hostile.
She rose from her crouch,
*click! *click! *click!
her boots clicking softly against the floor as she approached, the dagger still in her grip.
Her steps were slow and deliberate, and every inch she closed made Jinn's body instinctively want to pull back—not out of cowardice, but out of sheer uncertainty.
"W-What are you doing?" Jinn's voice cracked slightly as the question slipped from his lips.
His instincts screamed danger, and though he tried to keep his composure, the image of that disappearing corpse was fresh in his mind.
The assassin didn't answer.
Instead, she lifted a finger and pressed it gently against her lips, signaling him to be quiet.
She then raised her dagger again—not towards his throat, but above his bound wrists.
Before Jinn could react further, the blade dropped in a precise, practiced motion.
*Clunk!
With a loud metallic snap, the iron bindings shattered and clattered to the floor.
Jinn blinked.
The tension that had gripped his body started to ease just slightly as he realized she wasn't trying to kill him.
Sheathed her dagger with a smooth motion, the assassin then gave her coat a tug,
*fwip!
straightening it, before casually dragging a chair toward him.
She spun it slightly before sitting down and crossing her legs, as if the assassination, the dark ritual, and the cutting of bonds were all just part of an everyday routine.
"Lady Venedix has high expectations for you, boy," she said with an almost lazy tone, reaching inside her coat.
From within, she retrieved a small metallic cylinder which clicked once activated—releasing a thin trail of smoke.
She brought the stick to her lips and inhaled deeply, exhaling a stream of fragrant smoke that lingered in the air between them.
Jinn coughed, waving the smoke away from his face.
"Another one of Venedix's lackeys?" he grumbled, squinting at the fumes with annoyance.
The assassin smirked, clearly amused.
"Trust me—I'd rather shove my face into boiling oil than willingly associate myself with House Sorellia."
That gave Jinn pause. He raised an eyebrow. "Then who do you work for?"
She leaned closer to him, her voice a whisper as she spoke into his ear.
"Oh, Venedix" she repeated, almost mockingly.
"I just hate working for her. That doesn't mean I don't get paid well."
Jinn's expression hardened, not appreciating the games. "Are you mocking me right now? Because I might be young, but I'm not an idiot."
She sighed as if mildly bored, then flicked him on the forehead with one gloved finger.
"I'm a contract hunter. I'm not tied to any house or empire. I work alone, and for whoever pays the most."
She shrugged, as though discussing the weather.
"Think of me as a mercenary, but with more finesse and less noise. I specialize in infiltration, assassinations, and clean exits."
She then stood and stretched a little before spinning on her heel.
"Anyway, my contract states I'm to kill anyone who tries to interrogate you. That warden?" she smirked, gesturing at the now-empty spot where his body used to be.
"He poked his nose too deep."
Jinn exhaled and rubbed his temples.
"So now what? You disappear again and I go back to my cell like nothing happened?"
*snap!
"Exactly!" She grinned, snapping her fingers.
A familiar shadowy mist began to swirl around her once more, and Jinn watched, bewildered, as her form began to shift and distort, transforming before his very eyes.
Within seconds, she was gone—and standing in her place, breathing and whole, was the same warden she had just murdered.
Her disguise was flawless.
From her stance to her facial tics, she had become the man down to the smallest detail.
"I'll be the warden now," she said, using his exact tone.
She bent down, picked up the saber he had dropped, and secured it to her belt.
"You've been gone too long. Time to return to your cage," she said with a smirk, now entirely in character.
"But first—" Jinn narrowed his eyes.
"Tell me your name."
She tilted her head slightly, amused.
"My name isn't important," she said with a wink.
"But if you must, call me Evakhell. It means 'dawn' in the Zerafhon tongue."
Jinn scoffed and spat on the floor.
"Great, now tell Venedix to wash her neck when you see her next time."
"Oh?"
Jinn's voice dropped to a growl.
"I'll be the one to slit it open—once I'm strong enough."
"Mhm," Evakhell smirked wider. "Very well."
"Steel yourself child, you have to survive the slave rituals before even dreaming of standing up to Venedix herself."
She then turned towards the door.
"Soldiers!"
*Thud *Thud *Thud *Thud!
Footsteps thundered from outside as guards approached. Two soldiers entered and saluted the "warden," unaware of the truth.
"Take this boy back to his cell. The interrogation is over," she ordered, mimicking the warden's voice perfectly.
"At once, sir!" they replied in unison, grabbing Jinn by the arms and dragging him out.
*Bang!
As the doors closed behind them, Evakhell touched her earpiece and spoke calmly.
"The boy is rebellious as you said, contractor."
===
Far away in the heart of the main city of Zerafhon
Venedix stood in her private office, arms crossed as she listened to the assassin's voice through a sleek, compact earpiece.
Her crimson-red eyes narrowed with interest, the corner of her lips twitching upward in a faint smirk.
"I shall meet you tomorrow," she said quietly, "at the coordinates I will send you."
*bzzt!
She clicked the earpiece off, placing it gently onto her desk.
Turning away, she walked toward a sealed room nearby and tapped a panel—illuminating the space inside.
Rows upon rows of blades gleamed beneath the lights, each one masterfully forged, deadly in both form and function.
The walls were lined with protective energy fields, keeping the swords untouched by dust, time, or meddling hands.
Venedix's boots clicked softly as she stepped inside.
*click! *click! *clack!
She walked to a chest in the back—different from the rest.
This one wasn't filled with prized possessions, but neglected ones.
Dirty, dulled, and worn blades rested inside like forgotten relics.
She reached in and pulled out a short sword, inspecting its rusted form, its imperfect hilt.
Then, she moved.
*Fwoosh! *Fwip!
With practiced form, she slashed and twisted, cutting through the air.
Wind distorted with each motion, sharp enough to be heard.
She then exhaled with satisfaction.
"This will do," she muttered.
Whetstone in hand, she then turned and walked out.
===
*Back to Jinn's location
*Thud! *Thud! *Thud!
The sound of soldier boots echoed down the hallway.
Jinn was dragged across cold stone corridors, passing cells that held the familiar faces of friends.
"Jinn!"
He turned his head.
"Hector! Vox!" he called out, his eyes lighting up.
"We're fine over here!" Vox shouted back, waving.
"I'll get us together again," Jinn said, before locking eyes with Hector.
"I'm counting on you."
With a nod, Hector's face disappeared from view.
The soldiers opened the cell where Jinn originally was in and threw him inside.
Kain ran to him—concern evident in his face.
"You okay?!"
"I'm fine," Jinn said, brushing off his clothes.
"Just got an earful."
The old man stood nearby, smiling.
"Eat first."
He tossed Jinn a piece of bread.
Jinn looked over, spotting a pile of unconscious Throns.
He raised an eyebrow.
The old man chuckled. "Don't worry about that."
Jinn nodded, biting into the cold bread.
"The slave rituals..." he muttered