The stammering had been a nice touch, Mordain thought. Not too much, not too little. Just enough to make the big one — Gareth — want to protect him, which had taken roughly four seconds from the moment he walked through the door.
That was actually slower than expected, but Gareth Orden was the kind of man who would adopt a stray dog in the middle of a battlefield, so the margin for error was generous.
Mordain sat at the table now, wearing Noel's face and Noel's slouch and Noel's slightly-too-wide eyes, and he let Gareth pile food in front of him because that's what Noel would do.
He ate too fast and got something on his chin and wiped it off with his sleeve instead of a napkin, because Noel was the kind of person who did that.
He ran through the introductions in his head while pretending to listen to Gareth's story about arm-wrestling a dungeon boss.
Gareth Orden. A rank tank. Loud, warm, trusting to a fault. The emotional centre of the group, which made him both the easiest to manipulate and the most important to eventually remove.
Gareth was the kind of person who held teams together just by existing. People fought harder when Gareth was behind them, not because of his abilities but because nobody wanted to let him down.
That kind of loyalty was useful in the short term and dangerous in the long term.
He'd need to die at some point, but not yet. There was too much value in letting him bond with Noel first.
Nyx Vohn. A rank assassin. Half Vahren, which meant enhanced senses. She hadn't moved from her wall since he walked in, and her eyes had been tracking him the entire time.
Not hostile, not suspicious, just watchful. That was her default — she watched everyone.
She was the most dangerous person in this room to his cover. Not because she was the strongest, but because her instincts were sharp and her senses were sharper.
His heartbeat was perfectly calibrated, his breathing was right, and his scent was manufactured down to the chemical level. None of that would matter if she was the type to trust her gut over her senses, but from what his intelligence suggested she was analytical. She'd notice something off, fail to find evidence, and file it away rather than act on it.
She was manageable, but he'd need to monitor her closely.
Daven Qin. A rank battle mage. Arrogant, theatrical, insecure underneath it. Already dismissive of Noel, which was perfect.
Daven's whole identity was built around being impressive, and Noel was designed to be the opposite of impressive. The dynamic would write itself: Daven would mock Noel, Noel would take it with a grin, and over time Daven would develop a grudging respect that he'd express through insults. It was a classic dynamic and it would require zero effort on his part.
No threat to the operation. Useful for comedy and for establishing Noel as the loveable underdog.
Mira Solwen. High A rank. Mind concept. She'd tried to read him when he walked in — he'd felt the featherlight touch of her ability brush against his mental defences like a moth hitting a window.
She got exactly what he wanted her to get: nervousness, eagerness to please, low-grade insecurity, and a genuine desire to fit in.
All of it was fake, obviously. His actual mental defences could have crushed her ability like stepping on a bug, but that would have given him away, so instead he'd built a false surface for her to read.
Layers and layers of constructed emotion sitting on top of a void she would never reach.
She'd looked back at his file after reading him. No concern on her face, which meant the false surface had held. That was another one managed.
And then there was Rose Vael. High A rank healer, Lucian's younger sister, and the most important piece on the board.
She'd smiled at him during the introduction. He'd made Noel's ears go red on cue, directed the blood flow with a precision that made the blush look involuntary, and looked away like he was embarrassed. Her pupils had dilated slightly when he did it, which told him the attraction response was already forming.
That was ahead of schedule.
Rose was central to the entire operation. She was Lucian's only family, his emotional anchor, the one person in the world he would do anything to protect.
Building a relationship between Noel and Rose wasn't just about having leverage — it was about embedding himself so deep into Lucian's life that removing him would tear everything apart.
Which left Lucian Vael himself.
S rank. Creation and Destruction concepts. Twenty-five years old and already one of the strongest fighters on the continent, which was impressive by mortal standards.
The boy had good instincts, real talent, and a drive that bordered on self-destruction. He carried himself like a man twice his age because he'd been forced to grow up the night Mordain had burned his city to the ground.
That part hadn't been personal, by the way. Ashwick was a strategic target — a supply line that needed to be cut. The fact that it produced Lucian Vael was an accident that became an opportunity.
Mordain had noticed the moment during the introduction. The brief flicker in Lucian's eyes, that split-second where instinct bumped against something it couldn't identify. The boy had good instincts. He'd looked right at him and sensed something wrong but couldn't figure out what.
It wasn't a problem, not even close to one. Instinct without evidence was just paranoia, and Lucian was too disciplined to act on a feeling he couldn't justify.
He'd pushed it aside already, filed it under "nothing," and moved on.
But it was worth noting. Those instincts would need to be dulled over time, buried under months and years of Noel being exactly who he appeared to be.
Eventually, Lucian would look back on that first feeling and laugh at himself for being suspicious of the most harmless person he'd ever met.
That was the plan, anyway. It had worked every time before. It would work this time too.
"Noel? Hey, Noel, you in there?"
Gareth was waving a hand in front of his face. Mordain blinked twice, let Noel's expression settle into something flustered and apologetic, and smiled sheepishly.
"Sorry, sorry, I was just — this is really good, what is this? Is this lamb? I haven't had lamb in, I don't even know how long, and I'm sitting here thinking about lamb instead of paying attention, which is really rude, I'm sorry, what were you saying?"
Gareth laughed. "I was saying you should come to the training grounds tomorrow morning so we can see what you've got."
"Oh. Right. Yeah, absolutely, I'll be there. I should warn you though, my sword technique has been generously described as 'concerning' by every instructor I've ever had, so please lower your expectations as far as they'll go and then lower them a bit more."
Rose covered her mouth with her hand, and even Daven snorted. Gareth clapped him on the back hard enough that Noel almost fell out of his chair.
Mordain let himself stumble, caught the table edge with practiced clumsiness, and grinned the embarrassed grin that he had perfected centuries ago.
Twelve hundred years of existence, and he was sitting in a guild hall pretending to be bad at holding a fork.
The things you do for a good experiment.