The trio stepped off the main road and into the dim arteries of the Fifth District.
Cloaks drawn, heads low. But here, no one paid much attention—half the crowd wore hoods, and the other half were too drunk to care.
Lantern's Rest was wedged between two leaning tenements, its sign half-lit, its windows fogged with heat and smoke. Music spilled out through the warped wooden door, chased by the clatter of mugs and off-key singing.
They pushed inside.
The scent hit first—alcohol, sweat, something vaguely sweet and rotting. Inside, the place pulsed with noise. Tables packed tight. A bard wheezed into a stringed instrument that had seen better decades.
Rosario led them to a corner booth—half-shadowed, tucked near the rear.
They sat.
Lox glanced around, tense beneath his hood. "So… what now?"
No one looked their way. No one approached. The bar rolled on without them.
Rosario leaned back, arms crossed. Luck slouched in his seat like he'd already decided to be bored.
Minutes dragged. Then hours.
The bard left. The light dimmed. The crowd thinned to drunks and ghosts.
Rosario sighed, eyes narrowed. "Is this some kind of test?"
Luck didn't look up. "What—you think they're checking how long we can sit still without stabbing someone?"
By now, the bar was nearly empty. Just a few bodies slumped over tables. One of them—at the next booth over—snored softly into his arm. They'd all assumed he'd passed out drunk like the Rest.
Until Rosario caught a glint of gold beneath the grime.
He frowned. Leaned forward.
Lox blinked. "Wait…"
Those golden bangs.
Rosario reached out and gave the man a firm shake. "Hey. Wake up."
The figure grumbled. "Wha—what… five more minutes." He swatted at the air, smacking Rosario's hand away like a mosquito.
Rosario scowled and kicked the leg of the bench hard enough to rattle both seats.
The man stirred.
Sat up slowly.
Squinted.
Perry blinked at them with sleep-heavy eyes. His voice came out flat, barely above a whisper.
"Oh. Finally."
He yawned, stretching like he'd just woken from a vacation.
"Next time, don't keep me waiting."
Perry didn't wait for grumbles or questions. He ducked behind the bar and shouldered open a creaky door, motioning them through without a word.
The bartender didn't even glance their way—just kept wiping a glass with the same tired cloth, like this happened every day.
The room beyond was dim and cramped, with a desk shoved against one wall and maps pinned up in curling corners. Once they were all inside, Perry shut the door with his heel, slouched into the chair behind the desk, and flicked through a few papers like he barely cared.
"Alright," he muttered, voice half-yawn. "They put me in charge of you three. This mission? It's your entrance test. I'm your examiner. Congrats."
He slid a folded sheet across the desk toward Rosario.
"Read the details. Do the thing. Don't die. Come back when you're done."
Rosario caught it mid-slide.
Lox hesitated. "That's it?"
But Perry was already leaning back, his arms folded, his chin dipped toward his chest. His breathing slowed. Within seconds—
Snore.
Luck blinked. "Is he… seriously asleep?"
Rosario unfolded the paper. "Seems like it."
Lox sighed. "A mattress with legs is supervising us."
CRIMINAL IDENTIFICATION FILE
Subject Alias:Marchioness Ismeria Vaelthorne
Real Name:Unknown
Title(s): Imperial Nobility – House Vaelthorne (Second Ring Residence)
Classification: HIGH THREAT – AWAKENED
Status: Active
Last Confirmed Location: Kartha, Ring IV – Estate of House Vaelthorne
Age: 37
Height: 172 cm (approx.)
Build: Slender
Eyes: Pale Violet
Hair: Platinum Blonde
Skin Tone: Pale
Distinguishing Features:
Wears silk gloves at all timesCarries a faint floral perfume trace long after the presence
INTEL:
The subject frequently visits Goldstead Auction House.
Tomorrow night marks their annual charity gala.
Orders: Infiltrate disguised as staff.
Objective:Assassinate the Marchioness.
Return here upon completion.
Just as they turned to leave, Perry stirred.
"Wait. Before I forget."
Without opening his eyes, he reached into the desk drawer, pulled out three folded cards, and tossed them across the table.
"Employee IDs," he mumbled. "Don't lose 'em."
Then he leaned back, arms crossed, and resumed snoring.
The trio exchanged a glance, then pocketed the badges and stepped out into the cool night.
Their walk back to the Fourth Ring was quiet—until Rosario broke the silence.
"If we're going to pull this off," he said, eyes on Luck, "we need to know what everyone can do."
Luck didn't dodge the question this time. "My sigil's tied to tracking. When I imbue it into my bow… none of my shots miss."
Lox raised a brow. "Has anyone tried imbuing it into themselves?"
They all paused, exchanging uncertain glances.
"I guess not," Lox muttered.
"What would happen if you did?" Luck asked. "Freeze yourself solid?"
Rosario shook his head. "I doubt it's that simple. If even the Empire doesn't understand the origins of these sigils… then we'd better stay cautious. Power like this never comes free."
The others nodded, the weight of it sinking in.
By the time they reached Eagle Street, the night had deepened. Lanterns flickered. The air was still.
They said their goodnights and split off toward their homes, each step slower than the last.
They'd need every hour of Rest they could get.
Tomorrow, the real test begins.
Time passed. The sun cast its glow across the streets of Kartha, gleaming off the canals as pedestrians strolled past in the late afternoon hush.
In a quiet corner on the western edge of the Fourth Ring, the Thorne & Sons funeral home sat like a shadowed relic. Inside, Rosario, Luck, and Lox lingered in the front parlor, while in the back, Garron Thorne methodically embalmed a corpse.
"So these powers aren't so uncommon anymore," Garron called over the clink of metal tools. "And now the imperial crown's handing you hit lists."
He sighed.
"Alright… here's the plan."
Late at night, deep in the Second Ring of Kartha, a magnificent structure rose like a crown of stone and glass—the Goldstead Auction House.
Nestled between noble estates and glimmering towers, its archways shimmered with embedded crystals, catching the lanternlight and scattering it across the marble steps. Carriages lined the street, spilling out finely dressed guests in masks and gold-threaded gowns. Guards in polished uniforms stood watch near the entrance, barely blinking.
Inside, chandeliers of etched ferralyte hung from the vaulted ceiling. Velvet ropes divided the showroom, where priceless relics gleamed beneath glass cases—ancient weapons, enchanted heirlooms, paintings no longer credited to the living.
In a quiet hallway near the service wing, three workers arrived late.
They wore plain black vests, pressed slacks, and matching auction house badges clipped to their collars.
No one gave them a second glance.
The trio split up immediately, each grabbing a tray of drinks from the serving station. In the ballroom, nobles in silk and sapphire clinked glasses, exchanging pleasantries too sharp to be sincere. Laughter echoed beneath the chandeliers.
Luck leaned against the wall, eyes scanning the room.
Then he saw her.
Platinum-blonde hair. Pale violet eyes. A presence that parted the crowd like a blade through silk. Marchioness Ismeria.
Luck's lips curled into a grin. A faint shimmer flickered across his pupils—the brief glow of a sigil. He turned without a word and disappeared into the crowd.
As he passed Rosario, he whispered without stopping, "Target located."
The auction house buzzed with movement. Guests took their seats. The auctioneer, robed in red and gold, raised his gavel.
Outside, beyond the golden walls, three masked men waited in shadow.
"How are you tracking her?" Rosario asked quietly, eyes scanning the crowd.
Luck gave a faint smile. "Don't you know? I was a scout. I have my ways."
Lox said nothing, eyes fixed on the doorway.
Then—Luck tensed.
"She's coming," he said.
Ismeria emerged through the back hall, escorted by guards. Her dress shimmered like moonlight, veil trailing behind. She climbed into a dark carriage without a word. The wheels creaked. Hooves clattered. The carriage rolled west into the night.
Rosario unrolled a small map beneath a streetlamp.
"If she's heading back to House Vaelthorne, she'll pass through Slasor Street. That's our shot."
Lox gazed at the rising moon. "Then let's move. No mistakes."
The trio vanished down alleys and rooftops, shadows cutting through Kartha's arteries like a quiet storm. In a matter of minutes, they reached Slasor Street.
Luck climbed to the roof, bow in hand, scanning the road below.
Rosario crouched near a vendor's cart. Lox took the far end of the intersection, hidden behind a boarded stall.
Silence.
Then—
Distant hoofbeats. Wheels grinding over cobblestone.
It was time.
Lox peeked out, fingers tight around his rapier. "They're turning the corner."
A sleek, black carriage rolled into view—three knights on horseback surrounding it. Two rode in the flanks, one trailed the rear. Full armor. Full alert.
Lox gave Rosario a sharp nod.
They moved.
From above, Luck drew his bow, breath calm, eyes locked. One heartbeat—then he released.
In a flash, chaos unfolded.
The rear guard toppled off his horse, an arrow embedded in his visor. Rosario cleaved upward, beheading the knight on the left in a single swing. Lox lunged at the one on the right, rapier piercing through a gap in the plating—straight into the heart.
Three seconds. Three kills.
Time stilled. The trio stared at the carriage.
Then—BANG.
The carriage door blew off its hinges. A single leg stepped out, clad in red-heeled silk. Marchioness Ismeria emerged with calm grace, heels clicking against the stone. She wore a blood-colored blade at her hip and a strange black collar at her throat.
She licked her lips.
"Well now," she purred. "What are you naughty boys up to?"
The seductive tone sent a chill through all three assassins. Whatever they'd expected… it wasn't this.
Without warning, she lunged at Rosario.
He barely dodged as her blade carved the air.
Lox moved in with a flurry, but she parried without flinching—elegant and unshaken.
Above, Luck loosed another volley of arrows.
Ismeria raised her blade. Blood from the fallen guards rose like smoke, then lashed outward—knocking the arrows from the sky and redirecting them at him.
Luck dove aside and tumbled across the roof, scrambling to higher ground. His sigil flashed. He imbued the bow and fired again.
This time, the arrows curved mid-air—defying gravity.
One struck true—piercing Ismeria's arm. She hissed.
Rosario charged, sword humming with a black glow. She met his strike head-on, her blade wrapped in a swirling ribbon of blood.
Then Lox darted in—his rapier radiating a pale frost.
Splshh.
The blade plunged into her side. Her abdomen froze on impact.
Ismeria screamed.
"AAARRGH"
She swung wildly at Lox, blood spraying into the air.
The ground quaked. Blood from the dead began slithering toward her like serpents, wrapping her body, knitting her wounds shut.
She stood tall again—eyes dark, fury rising.
Blood erupted from the cobblestones, snaring Luck and Rosario in crimson tendrils. They struggled, bound.
Lox tried to reach them—but the blood struck again.
Tendrils lunged. He slashed them back, freezing each one in mid-air.
But still, more came. Endless. Writhing. Hungry.
He staggered back, heart pounding.
Not again.
He'd already lost Elandra.
He wasn't going to lose them, either.
Lox shut his eyes.
His only hope was to draw more from the sigil.
He focused—
the bite of winter,
the stillness of snow,
a frozen world untouched by blood or pain.
His breath slowed. Fog curled from his lips.
Then—
Frost bloomed across his skin.
His eyes opened, glowing pale blue.
For a flicker of a moment, sigils danced in their depths.
The rapier in his grip had thickened into a glacial thrusting sword—jagged, rimmed in hoarfrost.
Above him, three icy lances hovered, crackling with cold.
He ran.
The lances fired—impaling every tendril that reached for him.
Those that broke through, he carved down with frozen steel.
The Marchioness raised her shield again—thick, pulsing blood.
Three more lances formed above him and fired.
The first, she deflected with a flick of her sword.
The next two struck true, punching a gaping hole in the barrier.
Lox screamed and drove his blade forward—
CRACK.
The shield froze. Shattered.
His blade pierced her gut—and Lox collapsed.
The Marchioness stood swaying, Lox's rapier still buried in her gut.
Across the street, Rosario pushed himself up from the ground, coughing, blood on his lips. He scanned the cobblestones—there—his longsword.
He scrambled to it, snatched it from the dirt, and turned to face her.
"Who sent you?" he growled. "Was it the wench from the palace?"
Ismeria met his glare with a thin, breathless smile.
Her fingers closed around the hilt of Lox's rapier.
With a wet, tearing sound, she pulled it free.
Chunks of ice clattered to the cobblestone.
Blood gushed—then reversed course, sliding back into her wound like liquid thread, stitching flesh shut from the inside out.
Rosario watched, frozen.
His stomach turned.
"No matter," she purred, licking her blade. "We'll have plenty of time for questions later."
Rosario stared in horror. He had seen death. He had dealt it. But nothing—nothing—had ever come back from a wound like that.
Still, he had no time to hesitate.
He steadied his breath. His sigil glowed faintly beneath his skin.
He charged.
Ismeria smirked and raised her weapon—too late.
Rosario swung.
From a distance beyond her guard.
The black-glowing arc cut through the air—unnaturally fast, impossibly long.
Her eyes widened.
SHHK.
Her head slid clean off her neck and fell with a wet thud to the stones.
Her body staggered.
And dropped.
Rosario collapsed to the ground, chest heaving.
Moments later, Luck dropped down from the rooftop, landing in a crouch beside the corpse. He gave it a cautious poke with his bow.
"So… is her head gonna grow back, or…?"
"I hope not," Rosario muttered, barely upright.
He staggered to his feet and limped over to Lox, who lay still amid the shattered blood and frost.
Luck knelt beside him. "Is he—?"
"He's breathing," Rosario said, relief washing through his voice. "Just passed out."
Luck nodded. "Then let's grab him and get out of here. Fast."
They hoisted Lox's limp body between them, dragging him into the shadows.
Behind them, the blood on the cobblestones began to steam.
The air grew colder.
Somewhere far above, bells tolled midnight—sharp and distant.
The Empire would wake soon.
And nothing would be the same.