CHAPTER 3: "THE HUNT BEGINS"
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Three days of training had taught Kael he knew nothing about fighting.
"Your stance is wrong," Liora said, circling him in the abandoned warehouse courtyard they'd rented for practice. "You're standing like you're about to run away, not fight."
"Maybe because I've never actually fought anyone before." Kael adjusted his feet, trying to remember her instructions. Shoulder width apart. Weight balanced. Knees slightly bent.
"The sword won't save you if you don't know the basics." She tapped his shoulder with her staff—not hard, but enough to make him stumble. "See? One touch and you're off-balance. Against someone like Verath, that's death."
Kael reset his stance, frustration building. "How long did it take you to learn all this?"
"Years." Something flickered across her face. "And I had good teachers. You have three days before we leave for the southern Capital districts, so stop complaining and start learning."
They drilled until Kael's muscles screamed. Footwork. Basic blocks. How to move without thinking. Nothing fancy—just the fundamentals that might keep him alive long enough to use the black sword.
"Again," Liora called. "And this time, actually *look* at what I'm doing instead of waiting for it to hit you."
By midday, Kael collapsed against the wall, drenched in sweat.
"I thought we were hunting assassins, not becoming professional fighters."
"We're doing both." Liora tossed him a waterskin. "You want revenge? Fine. But revenge means nothing if you're dead. Right now, any street thug with a knife could kill you."
"I have the sword."
"And what happens when you don't? When someone attacks you on the street and your sword is wrapped in your room?" She sat beside him. "I'm trying to keep you alive, Kael. Whether you appreciate it or not."
There was something in her voice—a weariness that didn't match her age. Like she'd had this conversation before. With someone who hadn't listened.
"Who taught you?" Kael asked.
"Someone who isn't around anymore." She stood, brushing dust from her clothes. "That's enough for today. Tonight, we start asking questions."
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The evening markets of Aldengard were a different world.
Where daytime meant guards and watchful eyes, night brought a looseness to the city. The legitimate merchants packed up their stalls, and other vendors emerged—ones who sold information, favors, and things that would never see sunlight.
Liora navigated the crowds with practiced ease, and Kael followed, trying not to stare at the casual display of Eidric powers around them.
A woman juggled flames ball her hands, each ball of fire dancing to an unheard rhythm. A man stood perfectly still while his shadow moved independently, arranging goods on a nearby stall. Two children ran past.
"Don't stare," Liora murmured.
"There are so many of them."
"Cities attract power users. More opportunities, more anonymity." She steered them toward a quieter section of the market. "In rural areas, having Eidric abilities makes you special. Here, it just makes you employable."
They stopped at a food stall where an old woman was grilling skewers of spiced meat. Liora ordered two, paid, and then leaned in close to the vendor.
"Still keeping your ears open, Grandmother Chen?"
The old woman's eyes sharpened. "Still asking dangerous questions, little shadow?"
"Only when necessary."
"Questions get people killed in this city."
"So does staying silent." Liora glanced around, then lowered her voice. "I'm looking for information about the rural cleansings. The villages."
Grandmother Chen's expression darkened. "You and half the underground. Everyone wants to know why the king's so paranoid lately."
"Any truth to the official stories? Forbidden research? Demon worship?"
"About as much truth as there is justice in the courts." The old woman wrapped the skewers. "Word is, someone's feeding the crown bad information. Accusations with just enough detail to sound legitimate. King acts on them before anyone can verify."
"Someone. You mean the Mouse network?"
Grandmother Chen's silence was answer enough.
Liora pressed a coin into her hand—more than the food cost. "Any names?"
"Names get you killed faster than questions." But the old woman pocketed the coin. "There's a clerk. Works out of the warehouse district. Handles the paperwork for accusations that go through the Mouse network. Not the source, but he'd know who is."
"Where?"
"Third street past the granaries. Building with the blue door. Goes by 'Scribe.'" Grandmother Chen locked eyes with Liora. "And little shadow? Be careful. Someone's watching the watchers lately. People who ask too many questions about the villages have been disappearing."
They took their food and melted back into the crowd.
"What's the Mouse network?" Kael asked quietly.
"Informants. Every nation has them." Liora bit into her skewer, chewing thoughtfully. "Citizens who report suspicious activity to the crown. Most are just paranoid neighbors or people with grudges. But some are professionals—people who investigate and sell information to the highest bidder."
"And this Scribe person?"
"Processes the accusations. Makes them official. Gets them in front of the right people." She glanced at him. "If we can find out who made the accusation against your village, we can trace it back to the source."
"And then?"
"And then we have leverage." Her purple eyes were calculating. "The Mouse network operates on anonymity. Break that, and the whole system falls apart."
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They didn't go to the warehouse district that night.
"Too obvious," Liora explained as they walked back toward the inn district. "We ask around, we draw attention, we show up at the Scribe's door the same evening? That's how you get ambushed."
"So what do we do?"
"We wait. Watch. Learn his patterns." She stopped at a corner, studying the flow of people. "Tomorrow, we'll scout the location. The next day, we approach. Patience wins more fights than swords do."
Kael wanted to argue. Every day of waiting felt like betraying Father Aldric's memory. But Liora had kept him alive this far, and he was starting to understand that revenge required more than anger.
It required planning.
They were nearly back to the Copper Kettle when the attack came.
Four men stepped out of an alley ahead of them. Three more blocked the path behind. Not guards—their clothes were too mismatched, their weapons too varied. Hired muscle.
"Evening, travelers," the lead man said. He was broad-shouldered, scarred, and carried a club studded with metal. "Nice staff your friend's carrying. Nice sword, too." His eyes fixed on the wrapped bundle across Kael's back. "Why don't you hand those over, and we'll call it a night?"
Liora's hand shifted on her staff. "We're not looking for trouble."
"Nobody ever is." The man grinned. "But trouble found you anyway."
The attackers moved.
Kael barely had time to process it. One moment they were talking, the next, men were rushing from both directions.
Liora spun, her staff a blur. She caught the first attacker in the knee—crack of bone—then pivoted to deflect a blade aimed at her head. Her movements were fluid, practiced, *efficient*. No wasted motion.
Kael fumbled for the wrapped sword, fingers clumsy with adrenaline. A thug reached him first, knife glinting in the lamplight.
Training took over—three days of drilling barely enough. Kael sidestepped instead of backpedaling, and the knife passed by his ribs instead of into them. He swung the wrapped sword like a club.
The impact jarred his arms. The attacker stumbled back, surprised.
"Get the sword!" someone shouted.
Kael's fingers found the knot in the cloth. He yanked, and fabric fell away.
The black blade seemed to *drink* the lamplight. Even in the chaos, he saw the attackers hesitate, something primal in their hindbrain recognizing wrongness.
Then one of them lunged, and instinct took over.
Kael swung.
The sword passed through the thug's club like it wasn't there. Through the man's raised arm. Through his torso.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened. The man stood there, eyes wide with confusion.
Then he came apart.
Not blood and gore—something cleaner and more terrible. The man simply... *dissolved*. Edges turning to ash, then nothing, collapsing into dust that scattered in the night wind.
The street went silent.
"What the fuck—" one of the remaining thugs whispered.
Kael stared at the empty space where a living person had been seconds ago. The sword in his hands pulsed with warmth, red veins crawling along its surface like living things.
"Run," Liora said quietly.
The thugs ran.
Liora was at Kael's side immediately. "Are you hurt?"
"I killed him." Kael's voice sounded distant to his own ears. "I didn't mean to—I just swung and he—"
"He would have killed you." Her hands were on his shoulders, forcing him to look at her. "Kael, listen to me. He would have killed you, taken your sword, and sold it to the highest bidder. You defended yourself."
"He turned to dust."
"I know." Something complicated crossed her face. "That sword... it's not just cutting. It's *unmaking*. Whatever that blade is, it doesn't just kill—it erases."
Kael looked down at the black blade. In the lamplight, the symbols along its length seemed to writhe, though that might have been his imagination.
"We need to move," Liora said. "Those men worked for someone. When they don't report back, questions will be asked. This area isn't safe anymore."
She was right. Kael could already see faces appearing in windows, doors cracking open. Witnesses.
They ran.
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The Copper Kettle wasn't safe either—too obvious, too easy to find. Liora led them through a maze of backstreets to a different inn, this one smaller and shabbier. She paid the owner extra for discretion and a room with two beds.
Kael sat on the edge of one, still holding the sword. His hands were shaking now, the adrenaline wearing off and leaving him hollow.
"First kill?" Liora asked quietly.
"Yes."
"It doesn't get easier. Anyone who tells you it does is lying." She sat on the other bed, studying him. "But you'll learn to live with it. To carry it. That's what surviving means."
"How many have you killed?"
Liora was quiet for a long moment. "Enough that I stopped counting."
The words hung in the air between them.
"I noticed." Liora's expression was grim. "Someone knew we were asking questions."
"Who?"
"Could be the Scribe, covering his tracks. Could be someone higher up who doesn't want us digging into the village destructions." She leaned back against the wall. "Either way, we've made enemies."
"Good," Kael said.
Liora looked at him sharply.
"I want them to know I'm coming," Kael continued. "I want Verath to hear about the boy who's asking about burned villages. I want him to worry."
"That's a dangerous game."
"I'm already playing it." Kael met her eyes. "The moment I picked up this sword, I became part of whatever this is. So I'd rather play it on my terms."
Something shifted in Liora's expression—respect, maybe. Or recognition.
"Alright," she said. "Then tomorrow, we don't scout the Scribe. We walk right up to his door and make him talk. No more patience, no more waiting. We push until something breaks."
"And if we get ambushed again?"
Liora smiled, but it wasn't warm. "Then we show them what happens when they ambush people with nothing left to lose."
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Sleep came in fits that night.
Every time Kael closed his eyes, he saw the thug dissolving into ash. Heard that last confused gasp. Felt the sword's pulse of satisfaction—or had he imagined that?
He gave up on sleep around dawn and went to the window.
Aldengard was waking up. Merchants opening shops. Workers heading to their posts. The city grinding forward like nothing had happened. Like a man hadn't been unmade in its streets just hours ago.
"Can't sleep either?"
Kael turned. Liora was awake, sitting cross-legged on her bed. Her purple eyes reflected the early morning light strangely.
"Thinking about what we're doing," Kael admitted.
"Having second thoughts?"
"No." He surprised himself with the certainty. "I'm thinking about what happens after. After we find Verath. After... whatever comes next."
"One step at a time." Liora stood, stretching. "Today, we find the Scribe. Tomorrow, we track Verath's movements. Next week, we figure out the rest. That's all any of us can do."
She moved to her pack, pulling out supplies for breakfast—hard bread and dried fruit, nothing fancy but filling.
As she worked, Kael noticed something on her wrist. A mark, partially hidden by her sleeve. When she reached for the waterskin, the fabric shifted, revealing more.
It looked like a brand. Circular patterns, concentric rings, old but distinct.
"What's that?" The words were out before he could stop them.
Liora's hand snapped to her wrist, pulling the sleeve down. "Nothing."
"It looked like—"
"It's nothing." Her voice was sharp enough to cut. Then, softer: "We all have scars, Kael. Some are just more visible than others."
She turned away, ending the conversation.
Kael wanted to press, wanted to ask more. But he recognized the wall that had just gone up. Whatever that mark was, it was connected to something Liora wasn't ready to share.
*Everyone has secrets*, he reminded himself. *Even allies.*
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The warehouse district was busier in daylight than Kael expected. Workers hauling goods, merchants checking inventories, the endless flow of commerce that kept the city alive.
The building with the blue door sat wedged between two larger warehouses, easy to miss if you weren't looking for it. No signs, no guards. Just a plain entrance and a narrow window casting weak light.
"Ready?" Liora asked.
Kael touched the wrapped sword across his back. After last night, he'd kept it with him. The weight was becoming familiar. Comforting, almost.
"Ready."
They approached the door. Liora tried the handle.
Locked.
She knocked. "Scribe? We need to talk about some paperwork."
No answer.
She knocked again, harder. "We know you're in there. We just have questions. No trouble."
Still nothing.
Liora stepped back, glancing at Kael. "Your turn."
"What?"
"The sword. That door isn't going to open itself."
Kael looked at the locked door. "I can't just—"
"Yes, you can. You dissolved a man last night. A door is nothing." She gestured impatiently. "Just a small cut. Enough to break the lock."
Kael unwrapped the blade. Even in daylight, it seemed wrong. A piece of night that refused to acknowledge the sun.
He pressed the tip against the doorframe, near the lock. The metal slid through wood like water. No resistance. No sound. Just a clean line that separated locked from open.
The door swung inward.
Inside was a cramped office. Papers everywhere—stacks on a desk, pinned to walls, stuffed in overflowing boxes. The smell of ink and old parchment.
And behind the desk, a thin man with wire-frame glasses looked up from his work with an expression of annoyance that shifted to alarm when he saw the black blade.
"We're closed—" he started.
"No, you're not." Liora closed the door behind them. "We're here about some accusations you processed. A village that burned three weeks ago. We want to know who filed the report."
The Scribe's eyes darted between them, calculating. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Yes, you do." Kael stepped forward, sword still in hand. "You process accusations for the Mouse network. Someone paid you to file a report about forbidden activities in a rural village. You got that report in front of the king's assassins."
"I handle hundreds of reports! I can't remember every—"
"Try." The sword felt warm in Kael's grip. Red veins were visible now, pulsing softly. "Because the people in that village were my family. And I'm running out of patience."
The Scribe was sweating now. His eyes kept flicking to the blade, and Kael realized the man could *feel* it. Could sense the wrongness radiating from it.
"There are laws—" the Scribe tried. "Regulations. I can't just give out information about active investigations—"
Liora moved. One moment she was by the door, the next her staff was pressed against the Scribe's throat, pinning him to his chair.
"Here's a new regulation," she said pleasantly. "You tell us what we want to know, or my friend demonstrates what that sword can do to human flesh. Your choice."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
"I—I keep records," the Scribe gasped. "Files. In the back room. The village you're talking about, the accusation came in three weeks ago, paid in gold—"
"Who paid?"
"Anonymous! Most of the Mouse reports are anonymous!"
"But you'd have a description. Details. Something." Liora pressed harder with the staff. "Give us the file."
"Back room—filing cabinet—under 'Rural Territories, Recent'—"
Kael found the cabinet, yanked it open. Files spilled out, dozens of them. All accusations. All villages. His hands shook as he flipped through pages.
There. His village's name, spelled wrong but recognizable. The date—three weeks ago, exactly. The accusation—harboring forbidden Eidric artifacts, potential demon worship, threat to crown security.
And at the bottom, in the section marked "INFORMANT DETAILS":
*Payment received in gold. Source: Anonymous. Delivery method: Direct drop, night of the 17th. Informant refused meeting, sent written details only. Handwriting analysis: Educated hand, likely noble or scholarly background. Note: Informant demonstrated detailed knowledge of village layout and routines, suggesting either personal history with location or professional surveillance.*
No name. But details. Clues.
"Kael?" Liora called. "Find anything?"
"Maybe." He pulled the file, scanning the rest of the page. There—at the very bottom, a small note in different handwriting:
*Payment delivery: Informant wore hooded cloak, kept face hidden. Observed by night guard: approximate height 5'6", slender build, moved with unusual grace. Possibly Eidric user (guard reported feeling 'watched' even after informant departed).*
Not much. But something.
"We're taking this," Kael said, folding the file.
"You can't—" the Scribe started.
"We can." Liora released him, letting the man slump in his chair. "And if you report this visit to anyone, we'll come back. Understand?"
The Scribe nodded frantically.
They left, file tucked inside Kael's shirt.
Two blocks away, in an alley where they couldn't be seen, they stopped to examine what they'd found.
"Professional surveillance," Liora read over his shoulder. "That means whoever did this has resources. This wasn't random. Someone specifically targeted your village."
"But why? We had nothing worth stealing. No power, no wealth, no strategic importance."
"Maybe that's not what they were after." Liora's expression was thoughtful. "Maybe they were after something—or someone—specific. And burning the whole village was just covering their tracks."
Kael thought about the sword. About Father Aldric hiding it in the basement. About the way the assassins had searched the church, looking for something.
"They were looking for this," he said quietly, touching the wrapped blade. "They knew something was in my village. They just didn't know what or where."
"Which means someone *did* know. Someone who understood what your village was hiding and wanted to make sure no one else found it." Liora met his eyes. "Kael, what else was in that basement?"
"Nothing. Just old relics. Donations. Things Father Aldric collected over the years." He frowned, trying to remember. "Wait. There was a chest. Locked. He never opened it around me, said it was just old records from before I was born."
"Records." Liora's eyes sharpened. "Or something else. Something worth burning a village to hide."
"But Father Aldric would have told me if—"
"Would he?" She said it gently, but the question landed hard. "Kael, your father kept a legendary weapon hidden in his basement for your entire life and never told you. What else might he have kept secret?"
Kael wanted to argue. Wanted to defend Father Aldric's memory.
But she was right. The man who'd raised him had kept enormous secrets. Had hidden truths even as the village burned. Had locked Kael in the basement to protect both him and whatever else was down there.
"So what now?" Kael asked.
"Now we follow the trail. The informant had detailed knowledge of your village. That's a short list of people—former residents, merchants who visited regularly, someone who'd lived there long enough to know the layout." Liora studied the file. "We find them, we find out what they knew. And we find out why your village was really destroyed."
"And Verath?"
"Verath was just the weapon. But someone aimed him." Her smile was cold. "Let's find out who pulled the trigger."
They spent the rest of the day tracking down leads—merchants who'd passed through Kael's village, traders who worked the rural routes. Most remembered nothing useful. A few recalled faces but no names.
By evening, they had three possibilities: a traveling medicine woman who'd visited the village six months ago, a former resident who'd moved to the capital years back, and a merchant who'd been buying timber from the area before the attacks.
"We'll need to split up to cover them all efficiently," Liora said as they reviewed their notes in a quiet corner of a tavern. "Tomorrow, you take the merchant. I'll track the medicine woman. We'll meet up by evening to compare notes."
"You sure? After last night—"
"Last night proved you can handle yourself." She glanced at the wrapped sword. "And anyone stupid enough to attack you now deserves what they get. Just... try not to dissolve anyone unless absolutely necessary. Bodies disappearing raises questions."
"I'll try."
They parted ways at the inn—different rooms now, safer that way. Kael lay in bed, file clutched in his hands, reading and re-reading the sparse details.
Someone out there knew the truth. Knew why his village had burned. Knew what Father Aldric had been hiding.
And Kael was going to find them.
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END CHAPTER 3