By dawn, Valenport was already buzzing with rumors.
A storm at the harbor. Screams in the night. Docks split apart like kindling.
Some swore it was a monster attack. Others whispered it was the work of a rogue Hunter.
They were all wrong.
I'd made sure the truth would be harder to swallow.
The orchestrator's corpse hadn't resurfaced. But I'd left enough behind—a shattered glaive, fragments of blackened armor, traces of corrupted mana—to tell anyone who understood such things exactly what kind of power had been unleashed.
Dareth would know.
And that was the point.
I sat in the upper loft of an abandoned tannery, looking down at the street below through a cracked shutter. Ryn and Loran were downstairs, sorting through the loot we'd recovered—mana stones, weapon fragments, and something far more interesting: a seal of the Council, marked with Dareth's personal sigil. Proof of his involvement.
I turned the cold metal token in my hand. A perfect tool for baiting the next trap.
The sound of footsteps pulled me from my thoughts. Ryn appeared at the top of the stairs, a short blade strapped to her hip.
"They're moving," she said. "The Council's Watch has tripled patrols. Dock district's on lockdown."
"Good," I said, sliding the seal into my pocket. "They're nervous. We keep it that way."
Her brow furrowed. "Kael… if you keep pushing like this, they'll throw more than just assassins at you. They'll send elites. The kind that don't give warnings."
I leaned back against the wall, smirking. "Then they'd better send their best."
Before she could reply, a low, resonant hum filled the air—familiar, cold. My muscles tensed instantly. Soul Resonance… but not mine.
It came from the rooftops.
I was moving before the first tile cracked. A figure blurred into the loft through the side window, cloak whipping in the wind. He landed without a sound, tall and broad-shouldered, his armor not flashy but built for efficiency—matte black plates, runes dim but pulsing beneath the surface.
His gaze swept over me like I was already a corpse. "Kael Draven," he said, voice deep and steady. "By order of the Valenport Council, you are to be executed on sight."
He didn't wait for a reply.
The first strike was a hammer of force. Not a blade—his weapon was a war spear, longer than I was tall, its tip glowing with condensed mana. I twisted aside, the spear's edge passing close enough to sear the skin along my arm.
His movements were nothing like the orchestrator's wild ferocity. This man was precise, every motion planned three steps ahead. His reach and speed made closing the distance almost impossible—almost.
I let him press forward, testing his rhythm. Each strike shook the loft's floorboards, splintering wood. Dust rained down, the air thick with the smell of old leather and magic burn.
Then I cut in.
Soul Resonance flared through me, my sword catching the spear in a half-beat before his thrust landed. Sparks tore the air, the force nearly ripping the weapon from his grip. He didn't falter—he spun the spear, shifting the attack into a sweeping strike aimed to take my legs.
I leapt, came down with a vertical slash, and felt the shock of his block jolt up my arms. The man was strong—stronger than Iron Fang, and faster.
A faint grin touched his lips. "Better than the reports said."
"Reports always underestimate me," I replied.
We clashed again, faster now. The floor gave way beneath us, collapsing into the lower level. I rolled, landing in a crouch, and saw Ryn and Loran already moving into position.
"Stay out of this!" I barked.
The man landed heavily, spear spinning into guard. "You think this is about you?" he asked, stepping forward. "No, Draven. This is about the balance. And you—" he lunged, the spear's tip flaring with sudden white-hot energy—"are breaking it."
The strike came too fast for normal eyes to follow. I shifted my mana, condensing it into my sword's edge, and caught the blow mid-thrust. The impact ripped a shockwave through the tannery, shattering windows and sending splinters flying.
We locked weapons, energy grinding between us. His gaze bored into mine, unflinching.
"You're not ready for what's coming," he said.
"Maybe," I said, pushing harder, "but you won't be here to see it."
I shifted my stance, kicked his leg out from under him, and slammed my blade toward his chest. He twisted, the tip only grazing his armor, but it was enough—Soul Resonance bit deep, leaving a jagged scorch across the rune plates.
His expression darkened. "Interesting."
Then he vanished.
Not ran—vanished. One heartbeat he was in front of me, the next he was above, spear descending in a blur.
I brought my sword up just in time.
Steel screamed, mana flared, and the tannery shook like it might come apart.