The Tombsrose outpost was called Ironridge.
It was built on a spine of black rock that thrust from the pine forests like a broken bone. A wooden palisade crowned the ridge, with watchtowers at each corner.
Lanterns glowed along the walls. The flag of the black rose hung limp in the still night air.
Volsei observed from a mile away, perched in the upper branches of a ancient pine.
His eyes, adjusted to the deep gloom, picked out details. The patterns of the patrols on the walls. The location of the gate. The glow of a larger building in the center—the command post.
Fifty men. Professional soldiers, not raiders. They would have discipline. Alarms. Maybe even a chanter or two, though those were rare and usually kept closer to the capital.
He closed his eyes. Let his senses expand.
The human world receded. The deeper, thrumming pulse of the Ether became faintly perceptible. A background hum of potential.
He focused on the space between.
The air around him grew thin, colors bleeding to monochrome. The pine branch beneath him felt insubstantial.
He took a step.
Not through the forest. Through the veil.
The world snapped back into focus. He was standing in deep shadow inside the palisade, behind a stack of firewood.
The transition was seamless. The two guards walking along the wall ten feet away didn't notice a thing.
Volsei melted into the darkness between two barracks buildings.
The outpost was laid out in a grid. Barracks here. Mess hall there. Stables. Armory. Command post in the center.
He needed the dispatches. They would be in the command post. Or perhaps with the commander himself.
He moved. A shadow among shadows.
Two soldiers passed by, talking in low tones.
"…heard the rumors? About Eden?"
"A ghost with a knife. Superstitious nonsense."
"The men from Blackwood weren't nonsense. They were carved like festival pigs."
Volsei waited until they rounded a corner. He slipped past.
The command post was a two-story structure of rough-hewn timber. A light burned in an upstairs window.
The ground floor door was guarded by a single soldier. He leaned on his spear, yawning.
Volsei didn't approach the door. He looked up.
The roof was slanted, covered in wooden shingles. An easy climb.
He moved to the side of the building. Found handholds in the uneven logs. Pulled himself up silently.
He crouched on the roof. The shingles were damp with dew.
The light from the window cast a yellow rectangle onto the ground below. Volsei crept to the edge, peered over.
Inside, a man in an officer's coat sat at a desk. He was writing by the light of an oil lamp. His face was lean, severe. A captain's insignia on his shoulder.
On the wall behind him was a map of the region. Eden was circled in red ink.
Volsei's eyes scanned the room. A locked iron box on a shelf. A rack of rolled scrolls. A dispatch bag leaned against the desk.
That was the target.
The window was latched from the inside. A simple hook.
Volsei reached into his coat. Pulled out a thin, flexible piece of steel Noella had fashioned—a lockpick, but longer.
He slipped it between the window frame and the sash. Gently maneuvered it.
A soft click.
The hook lifted.
He eased the window open. Just a crack. Enough to hear.
"…force mustered at Stonecross by the new moon," the captain was muttering to himself as he wrote. "Two hundred heavy infantry. Fifty cavalry. Three chanters. Objective: reduction of Eden to vassal status, capture of the anomalous asset. Authorization: Prince Caelan, by order of the King…"
Volsei's blood ran cold. Not from fear. From a sudden, icy clarity.
They weren't just planning punishment. They were planning conquest. And they wanted him. The "anomalous asset."
He was a specimen to be dissected. A weapon to be captured and turned.
The captain finished writing, sanded the paper, and rolled it. He sealed it with wax, pressing a signet ring with the rose emblem.
He stood, stretched, and walked to the door. "Guard! I'm retiring. No disturbances."
"Yes, Captain!"
The captain left the room, taking a lantern with him. The room was plunged into near-darkness, lit only by the embers in the fireplace.
Volsei waited. Counted to one hundred.
Silence.
He opened the window fully. Slid inside like smoke.
He went straight to the desk. The dispatch bag contained three other sealed scrolls. He took them all. He also took the map from the wall, folding it quickly.
His eyes fell on the iron box on the shelf. It was small, sturdy.
He picked it up. It was heavy. Locked.
He placed his palm on the lock. Whispered.
"Scindo."
A series of tiny, precise cuts inside the mechanism. The lock disintegrated.
He opened the box.
Inside were coins. A few personal letters. And a single, small book bound in black leather.
He opened the book. The pages were filled with tightly written phonetic notations. The Soul-Prayer. A training manual for chanters.
Jackpot.
He took the book. Left the coins.
He was about to leave when he paused. He looked at the captain's empty desk.
He needed a message. Something that would sow chaos. Fear.
He picked up the captain's quill. Dipped it in the inkwell that was still open.
On the blank parchment left on the desk, he wrote four words in a simple, blocky script:
WE ARE WATCHING. EDEN.
It wasn't signed. It didn't need to be.
He slipped back out the window, closed it silently.
He crouched on the roof, the stolen goods secure inside his coat.
He could leave now. His mission was a success.
But.
Two hundred infantry. Fifty cavalry. Three chanters.
They would come here, to Ironridge, as a staging point. Then they would march on Eden.
This place was the launchpad for the invasion of her home.
A cold anger, unfamiliar and sharp, coiled in his gut.
It wasn't boredom. It was something else.
He looked at the watchtowers. At the barracks where men slept, dreaming of burning a poor kingdom to the ground.
He made a decision.
He dropped from the roof, landing softly in the dirt.
He walked to the armory. A sturdy log building, padlocked.
He placed his hand on the heavy wooden door.
"Umbra Scindo."
A vertical line appeared from top to bottom. The door split into two halves, each falling inward with a crash that echoed in the quiet night.
Alarm bells began to ring.
Shouts. The sounds of men scrambling.
Volsei didn't run. He walked to the center of the compound. He stood in the open, waiting.
Soldiers poured from the barracks, pulling on jackets, grabbing muskets and swords.
They saw him. A lone figure in the dark.
"Halt! Identify yourself!"
The captain emerged from his quarters, sword in hand. "You! Intruder! Surround him!"
Twenty men formed a loose circle around Volsei. Muskets were leveled.
Volsei looked at the captain. He saw the man's eyes widen as he recognized the description from the rumors.
"The Whispering Blade," the captain breathed.
"You're sending an army to Eden," Volsei said, his voice flat. "Don't."
"You are outnumbered. Surrender, and you will be treated as a valuable prisoner."
"I'm not here to surrender."
Volsei raised his knife. Not to attack. To point.
He pointed at the flagpole in the center of the yard. The black rose banner hung at the top.
He whispered.
"Umbra Scindo."
A single, horizontal cut.
The rope holding the flag severed.
The banner of Tombsrose fluttered down, landing in the dirt.
A collective gasp.
Desecration.
"Fire!" the captain screamed.
A volley of muskets boomed. Smoke filled the air.
When it cleared, Volsei was gone.
He had realm-walked three feet to the left. Appeared behind the line of soldiers.
His knife flashed. Two men fell, clutching severed hamstrings.
Chaos erupted.
Volsei moved like a storm. He didn't kill everyone. He maimed. Disarmed. Destroyed.
He cut muskets in half. Sliced through sword blades. Put shallow, bleeding cuts on arms and legs.
He was a whirlwind of precise, controlled violence.
He wasn't trying to exterminate. He was trying to terrify.
To show them what was coming.
The captain charged him, sword raised high.
Volsei disarmed him with a flick of his wrist. The sword clattered away.
He grabbed the captain by the throat. Lifted him off the ground.
"Listen," Volsei hissed, his face inches from the man's. "You tell Prince Caelan. Tell your king. The road to Eden is closed. If they send their army, I will meet it. And I will cut it down to the last man."
He dropped the captain, who crumpled, gasping.
Volsei looked around. The outpost was in shambles. Wounded men moaned. The symbol of their power lay in the mud.
His message was delivered.
He turned and walked toward the gate. No one tried to stop him.
He reached the palisade wall. Didn't bother with the gate.
He looked at the thick logs. Whispered.
A section of the wall, ten feet wide, silently split apart. The logs fell outward, creating a gaping hole.
He walked through it, into the dark forest.
Behind him, Ironridge burned not with fire, but with panic.
He had their secrets. And they had his warning.
The war had just inched closer.