The moon hung low over Aerysthal, casting long silver shadows across the rooftops. Selene Varkos crouched atop a weathered building, her cloak blending with the night, eyes fixed on the palace depot at the edge of the city. The supply wagons were loaded, the guards stationed in predictable patterns, and the glow of torches traced the stone walls like watchful eyes. Everything she had studied, planned, and waited for converged on this moment.
Beside her, Captain Rhys adjusted the strap of his bow, scanning the surrounding rooftops. The rest of the vanguard crouched along the rooftops, silent, disciplined, shadows among shadows. Even Mirael, usually unaccustomed to combat, clutched a small satchel of explosives and documents with shaking hands.
Selene turned to them, her eyes sharp. "Tonight, we strike. Not for revenge—not yet—but for proof. Proof that the crown cannot bury its enemies with lies. Every movement, every signal, every strike matters. Follow my lead, and no one will die unnecessarily."
Rhys nodded. "Understood, General. We're ready."
Selene's heart beat steadily, the familiar rhythm of a warrior preparing for battle. She had faced armies larger than this in open fields, but tonight was different. Every mistake would be magnified in the city streets, every failed step could reveal them to the palace. Stealth was as dangerous as open combat.
She signaled the start with a slight flick of her hand.
Approach
The team moved silently, leaping from rooftop to rooftop, their boots making almost no sound against the weathered tiles. Below, the streets were dark, the few night patrols far from their position. The depot was visible now—a long, stone building surrounded by high walls, guards patrolling the perimeter with torches.
Selene's plan was simple but precise:
Neutralize the outer guards silently.
Disable the main gate and open a path for supply wagons.
Retrieve weapons and intelligence for later operations.
Disappear before reinforcements arrive.
She motioned to the first pair of scouts. Two archers nocked arrows, aiming carefully. The guards were spaced too far apart for a single arrow to alert the others. Selene counted in her mind: one… two… three… The first guard fell quietly, his torch extinguished with a cloth. The second guard followed. Shadows swallowed them before anyone else noticed.
From the rooftops, Selene watched. The depot doors loomed ahead, massive oak reinforced with iron. The hinges creaked faintly in the wind, the guards' routine predictable. She nodded to Mirael, who approached the back entrance with the explosives.
"Remember," she whispered, "a single spark and the alarms will ring. Timing is everything."
Mirael nodded, hands trembling but steady. "Understood."
A moment later, the first charges were set. Small, silent, designed only to weaken the lock mechanism. Selene observed as the guards rotated, moving into blind spots. It was a delicate dance: shadows, movement, breath control.
The Strike
Once the locks were weakened, Selene led the vanguard down into the alleyways, reaching the depot's side entrance. She signaled the team: two to secure the roof, two to monitor the streets, and four to accompany her inside.
The first lock gave way with a muted click. Selene pushed the door just enough to slip through. Darkness enveloped her, only the faint moonlight spilling through the high windows.
Inside, crates of weapons, armor, and supplies filled the room. The smell of oiled metal and fresh wood filled her nose. She motioned to her soldiers. "Quiet. Retrieve what we need. Move fast."
Rhys and two others began untying the supply wagons, rolling barrels of arrows and crates of swords toward the side exit. Selene moved toward a pile of documents stacked on a table—ledgers, correspondences, and reports she could use to expose the council's corruption. Mirael's hands flew over the papers, marking the most important items for transport.
Everything seemed to be going according to plan—until the floorboard creaked beneath a guard making his rounds.
Selene froze. Time slowed. The guard turned his head, his eyes narrowing, sensing movement.
Without hesitation, Selene moved like a shadow, her hand closing over the man's mouth as her knee struck him down softly. His body crumpled silently. Another soldier covered the corridor, ensuring no other patrols approached.
The vanguard worked like a single organism. Every movement precise, every breath measured. It was as if Selene herself had become the city's shadow, moving through it with lethal grace.
Chaos Brews
Just as the wagons were being moved, a torchlight appeared in the depot's far corridor. Another patrol, returning early. Selene's pulse quickened, but she did not panic. She signaled for the team to hide behind crates.
The guard stepped into the room, his eyes scanning the shadows. Mirael froze, clutching the documents. Selene hissed, "Move! Now!"
The team sprang into action. Rhys's arrow found the guard before he could sound an alarm. The others subdued two more silently. But the brief commotion had alerted some of the guards outside. Footsteps echoed.
Selene knew they had only moments. "Load the wagons! Move them to the alleyway exit!" she ordered.
The vanguard obeyed with speed born of experience. Crates and barrels tumbled along the cobblestone floor, wheels squeaking softly, soldiers coordinating each movement with whispers and hand signals.
Outside, the alleyway provided cover. The horses had been hidden earlier, ready to pull the wagons into the shadows. Once the first wagon rolled into the alley, Selene turned to cover the rear, her sword drawn, eyes blazing with determination.
The first alarm sounded—soft, distant—but enough. Guards were running toward the depot. Selene didn't flinch. She stepped into the open, blades slicing through the nearest window, using it to push the remaining wagons out. Sparks flew as metal met stone, but the vanguard's precision ensured no lives were lost.
The Escape
Once the wagons were out, Selene led her team through the rooftops again, retracing their path toward the safehouse. Behind them, the depot began to stir with chaos. Shouts, torches, and clanging metal filled the air. The council would soon know of the strike.
Selene did not slow. Every step, every jump, every landing was calculated. The vanguard followed without hesitation, shadows moving as one.
When they reached the final alley leading to the safehouse, Selene paused. She looked at the wagons, the documents, and the weapons—all proof of their operation's success. A spark of triumph flashed in her chest, tempered by caution.
"We have done more than retrieve supplies," she said quietly, voice steady. "We have shown the council that I am not gone. That I am still here, and I am watching. Every action has consequences."
Mirael, still shaking, looked up at her. "Do you think they will come after us now?"
Selene's eyes narrowed. "Of course. They will send soldiers, spies, anyone they can. But we are shadows. We are the forgotten. And shadows cannot be crushed… not when they move as one."
The vanguard prepared to unload the supplies into the hidden cellars, careful to remain silent. The first strike had been a success, but Selene knew it was only the beginning. The palace would retaliate. And she would be ready.
A Message from the Shadows
As dawn approached, a thin shaft of light slipped into the safehouse. A folded note was left at the door, sealed with crimson wax. Selene picked it up carefully.
"You have begun well, General. But the council will not stop. Expect their wrath, and trust your allies carefully. —L"
Selene's lips curved into a faint smile. Whoever L was, they had eyes within the palace. Perhaps even allies unknown to the council. She folded the note and placed it in her pocket.
"Prepare for the next step," she said to her soldiers. "We strike again soon. And when we do, Aerysthal will see that betrayal carries a price—and that I, Selene Varkos, am not a shadow to be forgotten. I am the reckoning."
The city slept unaware that their greatest general had returned—not as a pawn, not as a prisoner, but as a rising force from the shadows. The first strike had been successful, but the war had only just begun.
And Selene knew one thing with certainty: the council would soon regret ever underestimating the general they had betrayed.