It happened on the fourth night.
Aric awoke to the sound of shattering glass. Instinct snapped him upright, sword in hand before thought could form. The chamber burned with moonlight and ash as shadows poured through the window—assassins cloaked in dragonsteel.
"Serenya!"
She was already moving, fire blooming from her hands. The first assassin shrieked as flames consumed him, but two more closed in.
Aric met them head-on, steel flashing in the dim light. His blade clashed against dragonsteel—harder than any metal he had known. Sparks rained, and his arms trembled with the force. But he refused to yield.
The fight was brutal, chaotic. Fire roared, steel screamed, blood sprayed. When the last assassin fell, smoking and broken, Aric's chest heaved with exhaustion.
Serenya pressed a hand to his shoulder, her eyes burning. "This was no accident. Someone sent them."
As if in answer, a sigil burned across the wall—etched in glowing ember, left as a signature.
Lord Kael's mark.