(Narrator: Kaden - First Person)
The smell is the first thing that slaps me. Always. It's a revolting cocktail that can only exist in the royal court: withered 'Celestia' blossoms, the sharp ozone tang of polished 'Celestial Silvermetal', and the heavy, coppery taste of clotted blood.
I'm running. My steel-greaved feet strike the marble, but the sound is lost in the chaos. Shouts, the clash of swords, and the smell of something burning.
"My liege!" My voice comes out harsh, torn. I cut my way through the Royal Guard—or what's left of them. They're fighting… something. Shadows in armor bearing no sigil. The 'Shadow Traitors.' A cliché name, but terrifyingly effective.
I slam through the double doors of the royal chamber. The scene is frozen. King Alaric, the man who was more of a father to me than my own, is standing. No. He's not standing. He's staggering. A long, thin sword, black as the void, is punched through his ceremonial silver plate as if it were paper.
The thrust is perfect. A thrust only a master duelist could land, not some cheap tavern assassin.
"No…" The word dies in my throat.
The killer stands there, wrapped in shadow, his face hidden behind a white, porcelain mask. I can't see his features, but I can feel… I can feel the *cynical satisfaction* radiating off him.
I see King Alaric's eyes find me across the room. His mouth moves. He speaks one word. A name. But I don't hear it. The sound of blood gurgling in his throat drowns the word.
*SPLAT.*
Not a noble sound. Not a royal one. It's the wet, vile sound of a carcass in a slaughterhouse.
"If only I'd been faster…" It's the thought that ignites in my mind, the same thought every night.
I lunge. My sword, 'Raven,' sings as it leaves its sheath. I am a knight, not a dream. I am here.
But the killer doesn't move. He just watches me approach, his head tilted. Then, slowly, he raises a hand. He's not holding a sword. He waves goodbye.
*Damn it.* It's a trap.
I try to stop, but my momentum is too great. The ground beneath me glows purple. Not magic. It's a reversed 'Eldorian Flame.' A truth-seeker trap used to bind a soul. The killer laughs, a sound like scraping glass. He melts into the shadow behind the throne.
"Alaric!" I drop to my knees beside the King. His body is shuddering.
"Kaden…" he heaves. Blood spills from his mouth. "My son… Ly…"
"I'm here, my liege! I'm here! The physicians!"
"No time…" He grips my forearm with the terrifying strength of a dying man. "Don't trust… don't trust…"
And he dies. His sharp blue eyes, which always held a glint of humor, go dull and glassy.
The void swallows me.
The marble walls of the chamber fade, dissolving into absolute black. I'm not kneeling anymore. I'm falling in the cold nothing.
A voice echoes in this emptiness. It's my own, but deeper, colder.
*"Do you really think that would have changed anything?"*
I float, helpless.
*"Struggle,"* the voice whispers. *"Struggle, fail, and give in."*
*"Know that you will never overcome this,"* the voice screams, and now it's Alaric's. *"And feel despair."*
**CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.**
I wake with a jolt, gasping, cold sweat covering my body.
The words "And feel despair" are still ringing in my ears.
"Dammit…" I groan, rolling my aching body off the hard wooden planks I've been using as a bed.
**CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.**
The sound is real. Not part of the nightmare. It's the morning bell from the City Watch tower in Celestia. Five a.m. The city is waking up.
I'm not in the palace. I'm in a rotting attic above a forgotten bakery in the 'Lower Alleys.' The smell here is worse than the nightmare: a mix of mold, dried urine, and the faint scent of burnt bread from below.
I ignore the ache in my back—a week of sleeping on wood will do that to you—and grab my helmet. The 'Raven' helm. A black steel work of art, shaped like a bird of prey, it hides my entire face and muffles my voice just slightly. It's my new identity. Kaden, the dead knight. But 'Raven' is the phantom haunting this city.
A small squeak makes me pause. In the corner, at the base of a moldy flour sack, sits a rat. A disgustingly fat, grey rat with small, beady eyes. It's watching me.
"Morning, 'Rymnos'," I mutter. (I named the rat after the portly Captain of the Royal Guard).
The rat blinks, then goes back to chewing on a piece of something unidentifiable.
"I know," I tell him as I strap on my vambraces. "Woke up on time today, didn't I."
I grab my worn leather boot. Shake it. Nothing. I shake it again, harder.
*PLOP.*
A large, black cockroach falls to the floor. Rymnos the rat cocks his head curiously.
*CRUNCH.*
I crush it with my heel. Rymnos lets out a squeak of protest, probably because he wanted the meal.
"Don't be ridiculous," I tell the rat. "I saw him go in there."
I pull on my boots. This is the eighteenth time I've killed a cockroach in this damned boot. How many more bugs do I have to kill… before this day is over?
I latch my cuirass, the metal plates clicking softly in the attic's silence. I look through a gap in the wooden slats. Below, the narrow street is already starting to fill with vendors. And at the end of the alley, I can see a patrol of the 'Silver Shroud.' Their armor gleams in the first light of dawn.
Traitors. All of them. Or so I have to assume.
I close my eyes. I can see the nightmare again. "Don't trust…" Who? Who don't I trust?
I died in that room with the King. 'Kaden,' the loyal knight, the young man who believed in hard work and fealty, evaporated in that moment.
I believed. How stupid.
I grew up listening to tales of 'Hero-Knights.' The warrior who could cut down a thousand foes. The one man who could turn the tide of a battle. I left home, joined the guard as a stable boy, and trained until my hands bled.
I wasn't particularly talented, not really. I wasn't a genius like some of the nobles who joined the academy. I got my hopes crushed plenty of times by so-called 'geniuses' who could barely hold a sword. But I persevered. I thought if I just worked hard enough, I could overcome it with time and effort.
And it worked. Sort of. I gained experience. I got stronger. King Alaric himself noticed me. Not for my dazzling skill, but because I was too damn stubborn to die. "You could be a knight, Kaden," he told me one day after a brutal sparring session.
And I started to dream.
And now, here's the dream. Dead in a pool of his own blood on a marble floor.
This is guilt, isn't it? It's not just a feeling. It's a physical weight. It makes my sword arm heavier, makes my steps slower. It's that despair the nightmare screams at me.
I grip my sword hilt. Recklessness. That's what I feel. I want to jump out of this window, carve my way through that patrol, and scream the killer's name at Captain Rymnos until he confesses.
That's what my desperate soul wants. But Alaric didn't die just so I could get stupid.
(Narrator: Light - Third Person)
Five streets away, in the cold shadows of the Cathedral of Silver, another figure moved.
'Lina' was in her full armor, a dark, intricately etched steel set that would have been considered a masterpiece, if it weren't so lethally practical. Her helm, shaped like a sleek falcon, obscured her every feature.
She was watching from a rooftop. Her target: The 'Silver Shroud.' Three of them, harassing a baker over late taxes. Their movements were clumsy, full of the new arrogance of power.
"Amateurs," Lina thought.
Her stubbornness was her armor, her isolation her weapon. She didn't need 'Kaden' and his dramatic guilt. She needed 'Raven,' the sharp tool she'd heard about. But the tool was proving elusive.
She moved silently, leaping from roof to roof, towards the Lower Alleys. She'd followed the rumors. And now, it was time to collect.
(Narrator: Kaden - First Person)
I'm just about to head out the door when I hear a sound. Above me. A faint creak on the roof.
Not the rat. This is heavier.
I have my sword out in an instant, Raven's blade making no sound as it slides into the air. I press my back against the wall next to the attic's secret door. My heart beats slow, heavy thuds in my chest. Is it a patrol? Did they find me?
Silence.
Then, a louder creak, and the small roof hatch above me slowly swings open. Grey dawn light floods in, silhouetting a figure.
*Damn.*
The person drops, landing in a perfect crouch on the dusty floor. A completely silent landing, like a cat... or an assassin.
It's someone in full plate armor, so intricately carved it looks ridiculous, and a bird-themed helmet.
"Well," I think, still hidden in the shadow. "Either the 'Shadow Traitors' have a weird thing for birds, or this is something else."
The figure stands, looking around the filthy attic. "I know you're in here, 'Raven'," a voice comes out, metallic and muffled by the helm. "The stench of self-loathing is filling the place."
*Tch.*
I step out of the shadows, my sword still raised, but not in a striking pose. "My, my. 'Lina,' is it? I have to say, unannounced entry is terribly rude, even for nobility."
She turns. No startle. No surprise. She just cocks her head, her eyes studying me through the visor slits.
"You're Kaden. The knight who let his king die."
"Damn," I say, lowering my sword just a fraction. "Right for the sore spot. No 'hello' first?"
"'Hello' is for strangers. We're not strangers, Kaden. We're the losing side."
Her hand reaches for her helm and removes it in one smooth motion. Dark brown hair tumbles to her shoulders. Her eyes are green, sharp as ice chips. She's beautiful, in the way a blizzard is beautiful—gorgeous to look at, but she'd kill you if you got too close. This is the stubbornness I've heard about, carved right into her jawline.
She throws a small leather pouch at me. I barely catch it. It's surprisingly heavy.
"What's this?"
"Food. And good cheese. Not the rat droppings you were planning on eating."
I glance at Rymnos the rat, who is now watching her with beady-eyed interest. "Rymnos was being a gracious host."
"Stop feeling sorry for yourself," Lina says, ignoring my sarcasm completely. She walks the attic, examining my broken window and my one escape route. "Your guilt is boring. And predictable."
"Ah, sorry my personal tragedy isn't up to your entertainment standards, *Princess*."
She freezes. Slowly, she turns. "Don't. Call me that again."
"Alright. How about 'Lyra'? I hear the 'Shadow Traitors' scream that name in their nightmares."
A tiny smile, quick as a flash, touches the corner of her mouth and is gone. "They've put a new bounty on 'Raven.' You've been stirring up trouble."
"I try." I open the pouch. Cheese, hard bread, and an apple. A feast.
"We're moving," she says, sliding her helm back on, the girl vanishing and the knight returning. "I found a trail. Something about the heir."
I stop, the bread halfway to my mouth (which is still hidden by my helm). "A trail?"
"Yes. Now," her metallic voice echoes. "Are you coming, or are you going to stay here and turn into another cockroach to squash in your boot?"
I smile under my helm. "Only if you promise to stop cracking such hilarious jokes. You're hurting my feelings."
"I'm not joking, Kaden."
"Exactly." I take a bite of the bread, the loud *crunch* filling the silence. I grab my sword.
Finally. Something to do besides dream.