"I can't believe you let me think you were just a guppy," Urduun muttered under his breath, viciously hacking a stray vine out of his path with his sword. It was a purely one-sided conversation, the assassin venting his deep, lingering frustration out loud. "I'm escorting a walking target. This is ridiculous."
Doren ignored his petty squabbling. He kept his mouth shut, his black and grey hair clinging to his forehead as he marched in silence. He made sure to keep in step with the assassin, practically stepping in Urduun's footprints.
The small, but greatly dense thicket they were navigating was rustling. The ambient temperature was thick and heavy, and the underbrush was alive with movement. Deep in the shadows of the twisted ferns, growls rumbled. Unseen eyes tracked their every movement.
The creatures of Shifton Island were content to let the assassin pass, successfully diverted by the localized hum of the repelation ward. But the beasts were intensely aware of the three unwarded humans trailing behind him, waiting for one of them to lag a few feet too far back to be covered by the magic's radius.
Katarina walked sideways, her hand glued to the hilt of her dagger, watching the brush with a lethal intensity. Anya practically clung to Katarina, her bright eyes darting frantically at every snapped twig.
The dense thicket finally gave way, opening up to a view so massive and breathtaking that it forced all three travelers to stop dead in their tracks.
Spread out before them, reflecting the pale light of the morning sun, was the massive Shifton Lake. The lake was so large that it was more of an inland sea, its sheer scale making it seem as wide as the island itself. The water was a deep cobalt, completely untainted by humans.
The most awe inspiring and terrifying feature lay directly across the water. With the recent, cataclysmic shift of the island hadn't just elevated the terrain; it had violently fractured it. From the top of the newly formed, towering cliff face, millions of gallons of water plummeted downward in a deafening, thunderous waterfall that violently crashed into the lake below and sent up a perpetual, towering cloud of cold, white mist.
There were hardly any creatures residing in the lake due to the waters always changing. The only ones that resided were a handful of different predatory creatures that would eat each other. The lake itself was not only dangerous but filled with creatures that would eat anything that went into the water.
"Shifton Lake," Urduun announced, pausing at the muddy bank to let the sight of the landscape sink in. "When the island shifts, the water here gets even more dangerous than the strait," Urduun explained, "The drag the shift creates causes a massive undertow. Anyone swimming, or caught in a boat when the earth moves, gets instantly dragged straight to the center and pulled down into the dark. It crushes you before you even realize you're drowning."
Urduun seemed to deeply appreciate the brutal efficiency of the lake. It was a perfect, natural moat of absolute death. He turned his gaze away from the water, lifting his gloved hand to point toward the eastern shore.
Tucked against the edge of the churning lake, resting directly in the shadow of the giant, fractured crack in the island, was a sprawling, heavily fortified settlement. It didn't look like a traditional city or a welcoming village. It was built from weather-beaten timber and jagged mountain stone, designed for defense and secrecy. Thick walls enclosed a series of brutalist structures, training grounds, and watchtowers that blended seamlessly into the treacherous terrain.
It was a place entirely devoid of warmth. It was the home of the elemental assassins. An organization that thrived on recon intellect and killing in the shadows. They had been around for the last couple hundred of years. While once widely stretched out across the world with branches on every island, they slowly fell in numbers as people gained more peace with their kings and political parties fearing a smiting hand from the crowns.
"Welcome to the Sanctuary," Urduun drawled, the smug, arrogant swagger completely returning back into his tone now that he was back on his own turf. He looked at Doren, his eyes flashing with a cold, predatory warning. "Keep your hands away from your weapons."
The heavy timber and iron reinforced gates of the sanctuary loomed over them, casting a deep, oppressive shadow over the muddy path. Urduun stopped a few paces from the massive barricade, tilting his hooded head upward.
Standing along the weathered wooden railings of the catwalk above was a lone, cloaked assassin.
"The Darkness is heavy," Urduun called up.
The sentry above paused, her eyes sweeping over the three armed, unwarded strangers standing behind him. "And so we strike," she replied. She raised a gloved hand and gave a wordless signal, looking back over her shoulder toward the assassin below her at the gate.
With a mechanized groan the massive gates began to pull inward. As the heavy wood parted, the true appearance of the assassins' sanctuary finally came into full view. It was a war camp with astonishing features to it. The streets were paved with hard-packed dirt and mountain stone. Structures of blackened timber and slate were built dangerously close together, creating a claustrophobic maze of tight, easily defensible alleyways. In the open courtyards, past the main entry building, the sharp ring of clashing steel and sudden, explosive bursts of elemental magic echoed off the walls.
The moment they crossed the threshold, the noise in the street died. Every single pair of eyes in the vicinity snapped toward the open gates. The hostility in the air was thick. Before they could take more than a dozen steps into the settlement, a figure detached herself from the rampart on the fortress's wall.
She landed with a small cloud of dust under her feet. It was a woman with sharp features and striking dark teal hair. She rested a hand on the hilt of a curved blade at her hip as she glared at the intruders.
"Who do you have here?" she demanded, with an annoyed expression across her face. Her eyes darted from Doren, who had Meko's blade drawn, to Katarina who had a shaking hand on her dagger.
Urduun didn't stop walking until he was a few feet. He smacked his lips and licked his teeth. "Oh, I don't know," Urduun answered. His voice dropped into a flat, deeply melancholic drawl. He casually gestured to the three of them with a flick of his wrist. "They got on the ferry and followed me here. I think they're spies."
Doren went for Meko's sword and Katarina's hand dropped to her dagger. She gripped the hold and got into a defensive position. A couple assassins on the rampart drew up crossbows, aiming right at them. If this was a joke, it was an ill tasted and sick one.
The teal-haired woman stared at him for a long second before letting out an irritated scoff. She pulled her hand away from the hilt of her curved blade, entirely unamused by his dry sense of humor. "Seriously, Urduun," she demanded, her voice dropping the aggressive bark for an annoyed recant. "Who are they?"
Urduun let out a long, dramatic sigh. He continued moving forward, pushing his way past her and forcing her to step sideways to avoid a shoulder check. "I have to take them to Dayle," Urduun muttered, continuing his steady, lazy stride down the packed-dirt street.
The teal-haired woman stiffened, her eyes widening slightly before she stepped out of their path. The surrounding assassins, who had been pausing their brutal training to leer at the ones who entered, suddenly found themselves very interested in minding their own business. Knives were slowly lowered, stances were relaxed, and the narrow street parted for them.
The three exchanged looks amongst each other. Katarina shot a venomous glare at the back of Urduun's head. Anya hurried forward, staying as close to Doren and Katarina as physically possible to avoid the predatory stares of the killers lining the street. They followed Urduun deeper into the maze of the sanctuary.
The deeper they walked, the more confusing the layout became. The jagged slate and heavy timber buildings grew taller, casting deep, overlapping and uneven shadows across the dirt. There were no merchants here, only the assassins that offered something. There were hardly any children. An assassin's life was too dangerous to take on adulthood. Those that did hardly went into the field after their children were born. It was an old rule established long ago. There was only one tavern in the entirety of the sanctuary.
Nearly every structure was designed for lethality and function. From blacksmith forges that lined the sanctuary walls, to apothecaries that made potions and poisons. There were stone enchanters and rune specialists that would special forge items for the assassins to go on their travels.
Finally, Urduun led them to the absolute center of the settlement. Built directly in the middle of the settlement was a giant metal dome. It was heavily reinforced with thick iron plating, with only one visible entryway from the outside.
Urduun stopped at the base of the wide dome. He turned around, his scarred face dead serious as he looked at the three of them.
"Alright. This is it," Urduun warned, keeping his voice low beneath the roar of the falls. "Dayle is inside. Do not speak unless he speaks to you. Do not reach for your weapons, no matter what he says. And for the love of the gods... let me do the talking."
Urduun stopped at the heavy iron door. He raised a gloved fist and knocked twice, then smoothly slid the metal mechanism from his hidden blade down the door, producing a sharp, scraping sound, followed by one final, heavy knock.
A voice came from inside. It wasn't deep, but it was heard. "Enter, assassin," it called out.
Urduun placed both his hands flat against the door and pushed it open. They stepped inside to see an older man with glasses, quietly reading over a sprawling pile of parchment scrolls beside a crackling fire pit in the center of the room. The space was comfortably warm with the smell of spirits and burnt wood filling the room.
When the man heard them enter, he looked up from his scrolls. He stood up from his chair, his cowl already pulled down to reveal a slightly flushed, welcoming face. He walked over and gave Urduun a firm knuckle tap, grabbing the younger assassin warmly by the elbow.
"Welcome back, boy," he greeted him, a calm smile on his face. He gestured toward a nearby table holding a heavy glass bottle. "Care for some brandy?"
Urduun returned the knuckle tap without hesitation and placed his other hand firmly on Dayle's elbow in a gesture of deep, mutual respect. "You know it!" Urduun replied smoothly. Then, his tone shifted, growing slightly more cautious. "I do have three visitors as well. Fennix insisted on them coming here."
Dayle paused. He slowly turned his head, his eyes sweeping past Urduun to land on Doren, Katarina, and Anya standing rigidly near the entrance. The transformation was instantaneous, silent, and terrifying as he went from a brother in arms to protecting his territory.
"Fennix," Dayle repeated. "The old ghost hasn't been seen in years. Why are three armed, lost children standing in my private study?"
Urduun slowly lowered his arms from their greeting. "The old man says the boy is under his protection. And..." Urduun hesitated, bracing himself, "...he says the debt of blood you owe him from the Red Winter is officially being called in. He expects you to train him."
Dayle went perfectly, unnervingly still. The words Red Winter seemed to suck the very oxygen out of the room. For a long, agonizing moment, the only sound in the stronghold was the crackle of the fire pit.
Dayle slowly reached up, adjusting his glasses with a single finger as he took a step toward Doren. He stared at him, his eyes carrying the suffocating weight of decades.
"He calls in a debt that old, a debt that heavy, to train a boy who looks like a stiff breeze could knock him over. Who exactly are you, son?" Dayle spoke in disbelief.
Doren remembered Fennix's brutal warning: You freeze when you should strike. The guild will break you of your fear. He couldn't hide behind the "Tidal Wave" charade anymore. The stakes were completely out in the open.
Doren squared his shoulders, refusing to break eye contact with the man in front of him. "My name is Doren," he said, forcing his voice to remain steady, "I have the Powerhart."
"You have a Powerhart?" Dayle repeated, the words rolling off his tongue with a mix of skepticism and amusement. He looked Doren up and down, his calculating gaze stripping away the boy's exhausted posture. Dayle slowly ran a finger along his own jawline. "I don't believe it."
The blunt dismissal made a fog of tension arise on the shelter..
Then Urduun let out a tight,bellowing fit of laughter.
Dayle didn't even look at Urduun and scoffed at Doren. "A Powerhart commands the raw elements of the world. He who has it doesn't just come begging an assassin to train him."
"I came for answers about my father. Not to come find you. We were just told to come to you for training." Doren said through gritted teeth.
Dayle took another step forward, closing the distance between him and Doren until they were less than an arm's length apart. The scholarly warmth was completely gone, Overshadowed by the aura of a killer.
"Anyone can make a claim that bold," Dayle whispered, his eyes locked onto Doren's. "But the Powerhart is not a trinket. It's not a shiny rock you show to your friends. It is a volatile power that violently protects its host."
Then, Dayle moved. In a blinding motion, his hands that were resting at his sides, moved to a jagged, dark-steel throwing knife. He blindly arced it directly toward Doren's throat with terrifying, lethal velocity.
Katarina screamed, her hand flying desperately out to push Doren away. But she was too slow. Doren didn't even have time to blink, let alone raise Meko's sword to parry the strike. The threat was there in front of him, and the magic resting in his chest reacted purely on survival instinct. The dormant weight of Galdur awoke.
With a powerful eruption, the floor beneath Doren's boots physically ruptured. A thick, jagged slab of solid rock shot upward at blinding speed, acting as a shield. Dayle's throwing knife slammed into the stone with a sharp metallic ping, the tip burying itself deep into the rock face, mere centimeters from where Doren's throat had been. Katarina stopped in her tracks.
The sudden use of earth sent a shockwave of dust blowing through the study, rattling the scrolls on the shelves and causing the fire pit to flare wildly. Doren stood behind the jagged slab, his heart thrumming violently against his chest. He was staring wide eyed at the embedded blade. He hadn't consciously called on Galdur or even his element. The Powerhart had forcefully taken the reins just to keep its vessel going.
Dayle didn't flinch at the explosion of rock. He stood there, his hand still suspended in the air from the throw, staring down the slab of earth. Slowly, a dark, deeply unnerving smile crept across the master assassin's face.
"Well," Dayle said, the chilling wisdom returning to his tone as he casually brushed a layer of stone dust off his shoulder. "It seems the debt to Fennix will be paid. Put your sword away, King-Maker. We have a lot of work to do."
The heavy, suffocating tension in the room shattered as quickly as it had formed. Dayle cleared his throat, the mild sound effortlessly slicing through the dusty air of the study. He stepped casually around the jagged, chest-high slab of solid rock that was now jutting out of his floor.
"But first," Dayle said smoothly, his tone turning instantly to that of a hospitable scholar, "we drink."
He walked to a wooden table near the fire pit. Picking up the heavy glass bottle, he seamlessly poured the amber spirit into four additional glasses. He picked them up, stepped back toward the group, and extended his hands.
Doren slowly lowered his arm, his heart still hammering frantically. He sheathed Meko's sword. His hands were still trembling from the adrenaline and the sudden, unprompted surge of power. He then reached out and took the glass.
Katarina and Anya exchanged an uncertain glance. They each stepped forward and took a glass. Dayle picked up his own and raised it high, gesturing toward Urduun by the door before sweeping the glass toward the three exhausted travelers. One was left for Urduun.
"Welcome back, Urduun," Dayle toasted, his voice echoing warmly off the stone walls. His calculating eyes then met Doren's, holding a newfound, undeniable weight of respect. "And welcome to the Assassin Sanctuary. On a map, you'll see Shifton... but here, it's the Sanctuary."
Doren brought the glass to his lips. He took a sip, and the moment the liquid hit his tongue, it felt like swallowing liquid fire. Next to him, Anya coughed quietly, her eyes watering from the strength of the alcohol, while Katarina managed to swallow her sip with only a slight grimace, her jaw tightening against the burn. Insid her mind, the alcohol made her want to gag.
In stark contrast, Urduun and Dayle didn't even flinch. The two clinked their glasses in the air and threw their heads back, downing the heavy, burning liquor in one single gulp. Dayle let out a satisfied exhale, setting his empty glass back down on the stone edge of the fire pit with an exhoing clink.
"Now," Dayle said, folding his hands behind his back as he looked at the three of them, the liquor doing nothing to dull the sharp, lethal edge behind his eyes. "Let's get you three settled. You have a long, brutal road ahead of you, King-Maker. Your training starts at dawn."
He turned his attention towards Urduun. "Urduun, go see Uston," Dayle called out from his spot by the fire pit. "He has a hit that he needs your advice on. Plus, he'll get you some glasses. I noticed you weren't wearing yours."
Urduun stopped with his hand on the door. He let out a long exaggerated groan, throwing his head back slightly. "Fine, I'll go see Uston," the shadow assassin grumbled. He sounded more like an annoyed errand boy than a killer. "But I'm not taking his bounty again. Y'all got the wrong guy. You can find someone else if that's the case."
With a heavy heave, Urduun pulled the massive iron reinforced doors backward. The moment the wood cleared the frame, Urduun stepped out onto the dirt paved street, gesturing for Doren, Katarina, and Anya to follow. As the heavy doors slammed shut behind them, Urduun reached up and grabbed the thick fabric of his hood. With a quick tug, he pulled the cowl down, exposing his face to the pale, bruised sunlight of the sanctuary for the first time since they had met him.