The night over the ruined citadel seemed unnaturally still, as if the world itself was holding its breath. Broken walls loomed like jagged teeth against the dim light of the twin moons. Kiel stood at the center of the courtyard, his cloak billowing in the wind, his gaze fixed on the gate where the enemy would come. His hand rested lightly on his sword, the other gripping a dagger coated in an inky black sheen.
Behind him, the surviving warriors of his faction assembled—tired, bloodied, but unbroken. Their armor was dented and their eyes haunted by the battles they had endured. Yet there was no wavering in their stance. Every one of them knew the stakes.
From the shadows beyond the gate came the sound of boots on stone. Not a march—too quiet, too precise. Kiel's jaw tightened. "Assassins," he muttered.
A low chuckle echoed from the darkness. "So the great Kiel still lives," the voice sneered. A figure stepped forward—a tall man in sleek black armor, his face hidden by a mask carved with a serpent's grin.
"Vareth," Kiel said coldly. "I thought you were dead."
"You thought wrong." The masked man's voice was laced with amusement. "And tonight, you'll see just how wrong you've been… about everything."
The rest of Vareth's squad emerged from the darkness, their movements ghostlike. Each carried weapons designed not for open battle, but for silent, brutal efficiency. The air thickened with killing intent.
Kiel stepped forward, signaling his own warriors to hold their ground. "If you've come to finish me, you'll have to work harder than last time."
Vareth tilted his head. "Oh, I'm not here just for you. I'm here to burn the last of your precious resistance to the ground. Every ally you've ever trusted, every soldier who still follows you—they'll fall. Tonight."
Without warning, Vareth vanished.
Kiel's instincts screamed. He ducked as a dagger sliced through the air where his head had been. He countered with a swift slash, but Vareth was already gone, moving like a phantom. The clash of steel erupted around the courtyard as assassins descended upon Kiel's warriors.
It was chaos. Shadows danced between the flickering torchlight, blades flashing in quick, lethal arcs. Men fell silently, throats cut before they could even cry out. Kiel blocked an incoming strike, twisted the attacker's wrist until the blade dropped, and shoved him back into another assassin. He was fighting not just to kill—but to keep his soldiers alive long enough to regroup.
A scream tore through the din. Kiel turned just in time to see one of his oldest allies, Mara, fall to her knees, blood staining her tunic. Rage ignited in his chest, hot and blinding. He charged toward her attacker, his sword cleaving through the assassin's guard and splitting his mask in half.
"Kiel!" someone shouted. He turned—too late. Vareth was already in front of him, blades crossed. The serpent mask's grin was inches from his face.
"You can't win," Vareth whispered, pressing forward. "You've been bleeding out for months—you just didn't see it."
Kiel gritted his teeth, forcing Vareth back with a surge of strength. "Maybe. But I'm still standing."
In a sudden burst, Kiel switched his sword to his left hand and drove the dagger in his right straight toward Vareth's side. But the assassin twisted away, letting the blade scrape harmlessly against his armor.
The battle raged on around them, but Kiel's focus narrowed to a single point—Vareth's movements, his breathing, the small hitch in his step when he pivoted. He was looking for an opening, no matter how small.
Then he saw it.
As Vareth lunged, Kiel sidestepped and drove his knee into the assassin's wounded leg. Vareth stumbled, and Kiel's sword came down in a sweeping arc—only to be caught between Vareth's crossed daggers. Sparks flew.
Both men were breathing hard now, circling each other. The noise of the battle faded into the background, replaced by the pounding of their hearts.
"You've lost already," Vareth said, but Kiel noticed the faint tremor in his voice.
"Not yet," Kiel growled. "And when I win—you won't walk away this time."
The moonlight glinted on their blades as they clashed again, steel ringing through the ruins like a promise of blood.