Dawn's pale light seeped through ragged clouds, painting the broken rooftops of Whitehold's southern quarter in silver.
Kaavi's shoulders ached from crouching, but he did not shift. From his vantage on the roof's shattered peak, he could see the forge's dark silhouette…walls scorched black, beams collapsed like broken ribs set against a skyline of soot and mist.
Every inhalation felt too loud.
A black shape drifted into view overhead. Kaavi raised a hand and wove the tether, calling the raven. His eyes closed, and the world went silent.
Through the bird's eyes the forge courtyard lay still. Collapsed carts half-buried in snow. The iron door hung ajar…like a maw waiting to swallow whole.
Three pale forms rested against the far wall, armour gleaming faintly in the grey dawn. No fires burned. No torches flickered. Embers in cold brazier pits glowed weakly.
He broke the bond and opened his eyes.
Veyl crouched few paces behind, unblinking. At his side, Viktor pressed himself behind the parapet's jagged teeth. Both of them cast anxious glances upward, waiting.
Kaavi's voice was low. "I see three. Doesn't mean there aren't more, hidden or waiting."
He paused, eyes drifting to the alley that sloped down toward the forge.
"That's too few to raise alarms, but enough to catch us if we move poorly. Stay here. Viktor's eyes are quicker than mine... let him watch. Joren and I can handle it."
Veyl nodded without a word. Viktor's cheeks burned, but he remained silent.
Kaavi dropped from the tower's edge. Joren followed, blades sheathed but ready, and the two of them vanished into the alley's haze.
The alley stank of old smoke and rotting grain. Collapsed carts and splintered barrels formed a gauntlet of debris. Kaavi led Joren on silent feet… through a graveyard. At the alley's end, the forge rose like a fallen sentinel, walls licked by previous flames.
Kaavi moved around the side. Joren came close enough to hear the rasp of his cloak. The back door stood reinforced with iron bands…too stout for a simple blacksmith's forge. He glanced at Joren.
"Someone expected company," he murmured.
Joren braced his shoulder and shoved. The door groaned loose in rusty hinges.
Inside, darkness waited. Kaavi lit a single flint vial. The flame licked to life, revealing a cavernous hall scarred by fire. Great timbers lay across splintered trusses. snow drifted in corners. And a few burnt tools and half…melted workbenches that told stories of long... dead craftsmanship.
Three puppets rested against the far wall, exactly where Kaavi's raven had shown. He signalled Joren to fan out. They pushed forward.
The puppets stirred with mechanical grace. Their joints creaked like old locks. Kaavi stepped into the centre of the hall, blade poised.
He struck without surprise, slicing clean through the first puppet's knee joint. It collapsed, whimpering a hollow chant, but tried to lift itself again. Joren pressed in, sword moving to pry the second puppet's elbow apart. Bone against iron: the corpse fell, limbs splayed.
The third lunged. Kaavi met it blade to blade; shields held no breath as they clashed. He slipped beneath the blow, pressed forward, and slammed the pommel into its chest plate. The puppet's eyes fluttered, glassy and wrong.
Even as it twitched, it kept crawling. Joren sheath flicked his knife and ended it with a single snap to the neck.
Kaavi watched the puppet's hand quiver on the stone floor.
"These things don't rest easy," he said.
He crouched and retrieved an oil flask, under a broken bench…dust coated but untouched by flames.
"Rest."
He cracked it against flint. A gout of fire leapt free. He poured oil across the other bodies, watching the first puppet's lidless eyes glow in the flame's reflection.
They pressed on through corridors where snow had been swept into neat lines and faint footprints told of hasty passage. Kaavi's boots felt the tremor of the building's old bones. At the corridor's end, a hidden panel yielded to gentle pressure, revealing narrow steps spiralling downward.
Kaavi and Joren descended. The stairwell smelled of cold damp and long... extinguished torches. Their footsteps echoed.
At the bottom lay a chamber lit by dripping wax in wrought iron sconces. Stone walls glistened with damp, and the floor was strewn with broken shards of pottery. Against one wall, three cloaked puppeteers... their faces concealed pulled a wooden platform carrying a motionless corpse in noble finery. Lips sewn, eyes open in silent plea.
Kaavi paused at the top of the stone dais. Joren crouched beside him, eyes flint...sharp.
Without a signal, they pounced. Joren's dagger flashed, slitting cloak and severing nerves. Kaavi sprang down the steps, drawing his sword in a fluid motion. The noble puppet stirred, stepping forward with unnatural movement ... trained before it died.
Kaavi countered. He wedged a boot into its knee joint, pinned it, and drove the sword through its breastplate. The puppet's mouth opened in a hollow bay. He twisted his blade, ripping wires and flesh alike, until it sagged in a heap.
Two empty coffins remained. Kaavi pried open one lid.
"The coffin's empty… they've moved the rest," he said, voice low.
Joren wiped ichor from his blade. "We clear?"
Kaavi shook his head. "Yes, but something's off."
He placed a blood slick hand on the damp wall. No distant voices. No footfalls. Even the dripping wax seemed to hold its breath.
Back at the rooftop
Above, the sky had ripened to bruised purple. Viktor stood behind the parapet's jagged stones, slipping his practice knife between fingers. Veyl watched the alley's length, his face drawn tight in thought.
Veyl spoke softly. "Your stance is too open. You'll falter if your opponent strikes twice."
Viktor's shoulders twitched. He swallowed.
Veyl turned. He drew the blade from Viktor's hand... a movement both gentle and firm.
"Watch."
He slipped into a guard stance: knees bent; weight on the balls of his feet; blade angled toward the growing shadow of dawn. He lunged with the hush of smoke drifting off embers, guiding the knife's flat across his forearm before pivoting his hips and sliding just off...line.
He struck again this time, a feint so precise it cut air rather than stone. His foot whispered across tiles, never heavy, never wasted.
"Your turn."
Viktor gripped the blade and lunged. He overbalanced, blade grazing Veyl's shoulder. Veyl cracked a shoulder, eyes dark.
"Off-line," he said. "Step to the side... not back. Turn your hips not your feet. Make yourself smaller."
He adjusted Viktor's elbow, set his foot, and sent him forward again. This time, the boy's blade drifted harmlessly past the target. His breath came fast.
Veyl looked at him then glanced along the alley, where yellow light met purple shadows.
"I learned fleeing is only shameful if you never outpace the blade that hunts you."
Viktor nodded, jaw clenched. A silent bond passed between them ... two boys made soldiers.
Back at the forge
In the hidden chamber, Kaavi pressed a palm against the damp stone. The hush of their victory cracked under the rasp of soft boots. He called the raven again.
Vision flickered. Through the bird's eyes he saw them: lifeless husks, eyes glassed and empty, drifting up from every ruined alley. Dozens formed a living ladder against the far wall. Others slipped through broken windows overhead. Still more clustered in the misted yards below, steel blades raised.
One puppet on the rooftop turned its head and looked up, his hands wide open. Through its glassy lips came a voice… dripping with cruel delight:
"Welcome! Kaavi. Did you enjoy Whitehold's morning light? I trust the roads were pleasant."
Kaavi's heart slid into his boots. He severed the tether. The raven vanished into the purple sky.
He turned to Joren. "They set this for us... to draw me away from the boy."
Joren's blades flicked free. "We move."
He spat into the gloom. "Let's go." he said and sprinted up the spiral stairs with Joren at his heels.
On the rooftop, Veyl finished sheathing his blade. Viktor crouched behind the rough stone parapet, fingers white around his practice knife. Veyl sensed the change before he saw it a shift in the wind, a tremor underfoot.
He glanced down at the alley. Pale forms pressed against the walls... slowly climbing. First five, then ten, then more than twenty. Each puppet moved with the same purpose: to reach this rooftop.
Veyl's breath steadied, placing a firm hand on Viktor's shoulder. "Step back... just a pace."
Viktor obeyed, boots sliding until his back pressed against the cool stone. His heart pounded so loud Veyl could almost hear it.
From below came a dull crack…stone chips falling. A single puppet vaulted the parapet, limbs snapping as it landed. It lunged for Viktor with an empty groan.
Veyl struck without hesitation. His short sword sang through the air, bit into its skull, and ended it in a single, clean blow. He spun, blade flashing, as two more puppets emerged from the stairwell's shadow.
Steel met steel. Veyl parried the first puppet's sweep and backstepped, forcing it off balance. The second struck low he twisted aside, shoulder brushing the wall, and countered, driving his dagger beneath its armour. Both collapsed without a sound.
Veyl's gaze flicked to Viktor. The boy's face had gone white.
"Listen," Veyl said, voice quiet but urgent. "Look like they're after you, maybe you've got something they want."
Viktor's lips parted, fear and recognition warring in his gaze. Behind the rising tide of puppets, Veyl saw another wave coalescing too many for him to hold. This was no random attack. It was designed to isolate the boy.
Veyl crouched and met Viktor's eyes. "Run... toward Gavril, he is near the granary. Others will be there. Do not stop. And do not look back"
Viktor's brow furrowed. "But..."
Veyl placed both blades against Viktor's shoulders, firm and steady. "I can't shield you and fight them all. Don't worry I will be behind you. Trust me."
In that breath, Viktor's mind snapped back to the night his parents died. His mother being dragged, his father dying trying to protect him. He remembered warm blood on his cheek, the moment he pressed his face into his father chest, feeling the warmth vanishing slowly. Then he had run, barefoot and terrified, into a world that would never be safe again.
Tears pooled in his eyes, but he nodded. With one last look at Veyl, he slipped behind him and dashed for the narrow stairwell, each footstep a hammer blow to his chest.
Veyl rose, body coiled. A dozen puppets surrounded him now, blades half...raised, faces blank of mercy, mist curled at his feet. He whispered into the quiet:
"Come…"