The hideout smelled of smoke, stone, and tension that pressed against the walls like a living thing. My boots clanged on the floor as I stepped inside, Lina and Cilia close behind me. Around the rough wooden table, the Revolutionary Commander and Smith waited, maps splayed with scrawled routes, streets, and patrol points.
"You're late," Smith said, voice tight as a drawn string.
"Had… complications," I said, shrugging. "Doesn't matter now. We set a time."
The Commander's jaw clenched. "Tonight, we decide. We have three days. Dalren, Lina, Cilia — everyone must understand the stakes. Precision, coordination, timing. If we fail, it will be our last day."
I leaned over the maps. "Three days… we'll need to pick the exact night carefully. When the city is quiet, patrols are minimal, and the moon climbs high enough to cover our movements."
Cilia's fingers trembled on the edge of the table. "It's… terrifying," she whispered.
I met her eyes. "It has to be. If it weren't, we wouldn't be doing it right."
Lina smirked. "Finally. No more dancing around. We make them see us."
The Commander nodded. "We'll decide which of the next three nights to strike. Full coordination. Every role defined. Dalren, Lina, Cilia — you'll be on the front lines."
The lantern flickered, shadows dancing across the walls. I felt my chest tighten—not from fear, but from the weight of knowing that in three nights—or sooner—we would face the King himself.
---
Night fell, and I crouched on a rooftop, the city stretching beneath me like a living map. The Citadel of Shadows loomed ahead, impossibly tall, its black spires stabbing at the sky. Even from here, I could feel it—the presence of the King pressed down like gravity, like the night itself had taken shape.
Somewhere inside, I knew a shadow agent was moving through the halls, carrying reports. I didn't know the details, but I had heard the rumors: the King was always informed, always aware. And tonight, word had reached him about the Revolutionary Commander—and about me.
I imagined it:
The agent kneels, voice trembling. "My lord… the Revolutionary Commander stirs. His men move through the city, disrupting our lines… and an outsider—Dalren—has joined them."
A shiver ran through me despite the chill. Even imagining it, I saw his reaction: a faint smile curling across his face, slow, deliberate, dangerous, alive. The yellow eyes ignited like molten fire.
Dalren… finally I would fight you. You better grow—it's been awhile since I heard that name. He didn't say anything about me not fighting you, now did he?
Behind him, I imagined the masked Shadows standing silent, watching. Some exchanged subtle, knowing glances. White, in particular, smirked beneath his mask, recalling the last time he had faced me and the strange, unsettling power I had revealed.
Even from here, I felt the pull of the Citadel—stone and air leaning inward, as if the building itself were aware of him. I drew a slow, measured breath, keeping my heartbeat steady. Panic would betray me, and I could not afford that.
"We strike in the next three nights," I whispered to myself. Lina and Cilia flanked me, silent and small against the sprawling, unfeeling city—but together, we were a spark.
Far inside the Citadel, I imagined the King leaning back, every movement deliberate. Amusement lingered like smoke, patient and predatory, the kind that watches its prey test courage before striking. And I knew, down to my bones, that one of the next three nights would decide everything.