But before the weight of this new reality could crush her, a new sound cut through the night. It was a sharp, whistling sound, the sound of an arrow cutting through the air at incredible speed.
Rhys moved in a blur. He appeared in front of Emma, his simple iron sword flashing out to deflect the arrow, which sparked and clattered harmlessly to the ground. Another arrow followed, then another. They rained down from the darkness of the surrounding forest, silent and deadly.
From the trees, figures began to emerge. There were at least thirty of them. They were not the clumsy outer disciples Rhys had dealt with before. These were true assassins. They wore tight, dark leather armour, their faces covered by black masks. They moved with a silent, deadly grace, their weapons held with the confidence of experienced killers.
On their shoulders, they all bore a small, subtle sigil: a single, crimson sun.
The real assassins, the ones sent by the Crimsons, had finally arrived.
