Night had settled over No'aar's capital, the waters around the city glowing faintly with bioluminescent currents from the depths below. The palace, illuminated by duralloy-reinforced lanterns and reflected moonlight, seemed tranquil from a distance, yet beneath that serenity, shadows moved with careful precision. A cadre of House Mordred assassins slipped through the alleys and corridors, their movements silent and calculated, each step measured to avoid detection by patrols. Tobias, far away on the observation platforms with Trace, could not yet see them, but the prescient pulse of danger hummed faintly in the edges of his awareness.
The assassins were elite, trained in stealth and deception far beyond standard soldiers, and they had remained after the bulk of House Mordred's forces withdrew to Moricho. Each wore dark, flexible armor designed to blend with both the urban and aquatic landscapes of No'aar's capital. Their eyes glinted with cold determination, reflecting the faint light of the palace and harbor. They moved in tight formation, communicating with subtle hand signals and brief, almost imperceptible shifts in body posture.
As they approached the palace, the first obstacles appeared in the form of minor retainers and maidservants patrolling the halls. The assassins struck with ruthless efficiency, incapacitating their targets before they could raise an alarm. Each kill was precise and silent; no blood marred the floors, no scream escaped the walls. They left behind no trace except for the absence of those who had been vigilant only moments before.
The lead assassin, a lithe figure with a faint scar along his cheek, signaled for the others to fan out. One pair circled the perimeter of the palace, observing entrances and exits, while another infiltrated the lower levels, blending seamlessly with the shadows. Their training was evident; every movement was economical, purposeful, and silent. Tobias, sensing an unease he could not fully define, felt the first ripple of prescience: the images were dark, fragmented, yet unmistakably real.
Trace had noticed the subtle shift in air currents and temperature during their patrol on the platforms. "Something is off," he murmured to Tobias, his voice low and calm. "I can't pinpoint it yet, but trust me—our shadows are not alone tonight." Tobias closed his eyes briefly, reaching out with the warmth of his prescient link, attempting to sense danger. A faint, jagged pulse of malice tugged at the edges of his awareness, enough to make him tense.
The assassins reached the palace kitchens first, blending with the natural clutter and low lighting. Maidservants moving supplies were silenced quickly, left in carefully positioned shadows or unconscious on the floor. No alarms sounded; the stealth of the operation ensured that the rest of the palace remained unaware. The assassins pressed onward, aware that time was limited and that their ultimate target, Duke Archimedes, would be heavily guarded.
Above them, Tobias and Trace observed from the balcony, unaware of the full magnitude of the infiltration. Trace's eyes narrowed, noting a subtle ripple in the shadows near the lower corridors of the palace. "Someone's in the palace," he whispered, pointing. Tobias' chest tightened as the pulse in his mind sharpened: danger, immediate and lethal, was moving closer to the heart of the Hawthorne household. He clenched his fists, a mental map forming in his mind of where the threat might move next.
The lead assassin paused near a rear staircase, listening for the patrols' movements and the occasional distant footsteps of servants. With a swift hand signal, the group fanned inward, moving toward the inner wings of the palace where the family's quarters were located. Each assassin carried tools and blades designed for precision, along with small, silent pistols capable of striking before a scream could be heard. Their coordination suggested intimate knowledge of the palace layout, likely acquired during House Mordred's prior occupation.
Meanwhile, Tobias' prescient images flickered in sharper focus: corridors illuminated by lanterns, a shadow moving too smoothly, and the faint glint of metal poised for violence. He sensed the tension coil like a spring, waiting to release. Trace whispered again, "They are testing the palace, gathering intelligence for something larger. They won't strike yet, but they are positioning themselves." Tobias nodded, realizing that the next few hours would determine whether the Hawthorne family would be prepared for the coming storm.
By the early hours of the morning, the assassins had eliminated the majority of lower-level staff and infiltrated several key access points leading toward the family quarters. Their movements were meticulous, each operative knowing precisely when to move, when to pause, and when to regroup. Tobias, observing from afar, felt the weight of the prescient pulse intensify. The threat was no longer distant; it was imminent, and the palace that had seemed so secure only hours ago now felt vulnerable.
Trace and Tobias descended carefully toward the inner halls, using the same corridors as the assassins' indirect paths but moving above them. Their neural link allowed them to share observations instantaneously, mapping the positions of every potential threat. Tobias' visions, combined with Trace's analytical precision, began to form a coherent pattern of the assassins' movement. The young heir realized that this was the first true test of their partnership under pressure, a trial that would define their effectiveness as a team.
The assassins reached a landing corridor leading to the central family quarters, pausing to assess the guards. Two operatives eliminated sentries silently, while another planted subtle tracking devices to monitor movements. Tobias, feeling the pulse of prescience sharpen further, whispered to Trace, "They're close to my father." Trace's hand tightened on the railing above a small stairwell. "Then we make sure they don't reach him unchallenged."
With the palace slowly infiltrated, Tobias and Trace realized that the coming confrontation would demand both strategy and precision. Every corridor, stairwell, and shadow could harbor deadly intent. Tobias' mind raced, visualizing potential outcomes and aligning them with Trace's tactical calculations. The shadows beneath the surface of No'aar's capital had grown long, and the hour of reckoning for House Hawthorne approached.