[Blackstone Keep - Captain Valen's Office]
The guards at the gate stepped aside quickly when they saw the squad return.
The squad crossed the courtyard without a word.One man carried a clean bandage at his shoulder; the others bore no sign of injury.
Bren approached Kael as they crossed the courtyard, holding out the burlap sack. The fabric was stained dark at the bottom.
"Captain." Bren's voice was low.
Kael took the sack without a word. He looked at his squad.
"Wait here. Get cleaned up. I'll handle the report."
---
Kael stood before Valen's desk alone.
The office was warm, a fire crackling in the hearth. Maps and reports covered the walls. Valen sat behind his desk, fingers steepled, watching Kael with the same cold calculation he always did.
"Captain." Kael saluted.
Valen gestured to a chair. "Sit. Report."
Kael remained standing.
"Mission complete. The killer is dead."
"Show me."
Kael set the burlap sack on the edge of the desk and loosened the cord just enough to open the mouth.
Valen leaned forward and looked inside.
He reached in and drew out the strips of tattooed skin, laying them flat on the desk. The markings were intact, the lines clean and unmistakable.
His fingers traced the edge of one of the skin strips—the largest one, taken from the forearm. The tattoo was intricate. Precise. A circle bisected by a vertical line, strange markings radiating outward like spokes on a wheel.
He was silent for a long moment.
"I've never seen this before." Valen's voice was measured, controlled. He picked up another strip, holding it to the light. "This marking... it's deliberate. Ritual."
He set it down and looked at Kael.
"Is this the body you're using for the report? Or is this the actual killer?"
Kael met his gaze without hesitation. "The killer. He was docile when we found him. Terrified. Then he changed. Attacked us mid-transport. Silas took a blade to the shoulder before we put him down."
Valen's eyes narrowed slightly. "Changed how?"
"Unstable," Kael said. "Fast, strong—but not controlled. He rushed, overcommitted, took wounds he shouldn't have. No fear. No hesitation. But every strike was deliberate. He knew where to hit."
Valen studied Kael's face for another beat, then nodded slowly.
"Good work."
Valen opened a drawer and produced a leather pouch. He set it down between them. It clinked with weight.
"Take this."
Kael took the pouch. He felt the weight—more than he expected.
"And one more thing." Valen leaned back in his chair. "The breathing manual. If you run into something you can't make sense of, come find me."
Kael paused. "Understood."
Valen waved a hand toward the door. "Take the head with you. Dispose of it properly. The skin stays here."
Kael put the head back in the sack and cinched it shut. He saluted once more and turned to leave.
As the door closed behind him, Valen picked up the largest strip of tattooed skin and held it up to the firelight.
His expression was unreadable.
He reached for a blank sheet of parchment, dipped his quill in ink, and began to sketch.
---
[The Training Grounds - Sector 4]
The training ground was empty when Kael's squad arrived.
Kael entered the squad room. The others were already there, scattered around the space, waiting.
He stopped near the center, the leather pouch still in his hand.
Silas sat on a low bench, pale, jaw tight, his shoulder wrapped and held immobile.
Griggs was nearby, bare-armed. His shield lay propped against the wall, firelight catching the shallow fist dents pressed into its surface.
Kogan, Jarek, and Bren were already back on their feet. Whatever injuries they'd taken had been minor—bruises and aches, nothing that lingered.
The room was quiet, the kind that settled after action, when everyone was waiting to see what came next.
Kael opened the pouch and dumped the coins onto a flat stone.
Silver gleamed in the firelight.
"Split it evenly." Kael's voice was flat. "Six shares."
Bren blinked once, then let out a low, surprised sound.
"Oh?" He leaned forward slightly, eyes flicking to the silver. "Captain, you're generous today. We get paid for jobs like this now?"
Across from him, Silas straightened. The strain in his face eased, the pain forgotten as his gaze fixed on the coins, sharp and hungry.
Griggs frowned, glancing from the pile to Kael, not quite understanding. Kogan said nothing, his brow tightening as he watched, confusion plain on his bruised face. Jarek shifted his weight, eyes narrowing, trying to read what he'd missed.
No one touched the silver.
They all waited.
Kael's gaze stayed on the silver.
"Valen gave it to me."
Kogan blinked. "Captain, you're taking the same cut as us?"
"We all bled. We all earned it."
Silas reached out at once, fingers closing around his share as he began to count. He let out a low whistle.
"That's… generous."
"It's fair." Kael looked at each of them in turn. "And it's the last time we'll be this lucky."
The mood shifted.
Kael let the silence sit for a moment, then continued.
"We made mistakes today. Fatal mistakes. If we make them again, we'll die. So we're going to talk about them now."
He turned to Griggs first.
"You told Silas to loosen the ropes."
Griggs's jaw tightened. He said nothing.
"You were being kind. Compassionate. I understand that. You're a farmer. You see a man in pain, you want to help." Kael's voice was cold. "But kindness on a mission gets people killed. That man wasn't a victim. He was a threat. Your mercy almost cost Silas his life."
Griggs looked down. "I know."
"Do you?" Kael stepped closer. "Because next time, it might cost you yours. Or mine. Or Kogan's. Compassion is a luxury we can't afford in the middle of an operation. Save it for after."
Griggs nodded slowly, fists clenched.
Kael turned to Kogan.
"You were the first to notice something was wrong. You heard him counting. You felt the shift. But you hesitated."
Kogan's face darkened. "I—"
"You waited for confirmation. You wanted to be sure before you acted. That hesitation gave him the opening he needed." Kael's eyes were hard. "Trust your instincts. If something feels wrong, it is wrong. React first. Apologize later if you're wrong. Better to overreact and look foolish than to hesitate and die."
Kogan grunted. "Understood."
Kael turned to Jarek.
"You froze. After he threw you into the tree, you stayed down."
Jarek flushed. "I was dazed, Captain. I—"
"You were shaken. I get it. But shaken or not, you're still armed. You still have a knife. You can still move. Staying down makes you a liability. If you can move, you move. If you can fight, you fight. There's no time to recover in the middle of a fight."
Jarek swallowed hard and nodded.
Kael looked at Silas.
"You did your job. You moved when I called for it. You took the opening. But next time, use your own judgment."
Silas grimaced. "Yeah. Learned that the hard way."
"Good. Remember it."
Finally, Kael looked at Bren.
"You adapted well. You did well. No mistakes."
Bren broke into a grin and gave a quick nod.
"Of course."
Kael turned to face them all.
"And me. I made the worst mistake of all. I wanted him alive. I thought we could interrogate him. Get answers. I prioritized information over safety, and Silas paid for it."
He let that sink in.
"I'm the captain. I give the orders. If my orders get you killed, that's on me. So I'm telling you now—next time, if I make a call that puts you in danger for no good reason, you tell me. Question me. Push back. I'd rather have you alive and argumentative than dead and obedient."
Silence.
Kael looked at him.
"We survived because he wasn't at his peak anymore. Three months ago, when I saw him, he was solid. He wasn't this gaunt. He didn't look weak."
"This was our first operation. We survived. We learned. We got paid."
He reached down and picked up his share of the silver, pocketing it.
"Now we're going to the tavern. We're going to drink. We're going to celebrate the fact that we're still alive. We rest today."
The room broke at once. Laughter rose, rough and relieved, voices overlapping as the tension finally bled out of them. Grins spread around the squad—some tired, some sharp, all real.
Kael let the moment stand, allowing himself the faintest trace of a smile.
"Move out."
They filed out together, boots crunching over stone and packed snow.
Jarek fell into step beside Kael after a few paces.
"Captain," he said, head tilting slightly. "That weapon you used back there—was it a magic item?"
Kael kept walking, eyes on the path.
"Alchemy," Kael said without looking at him. "A prototype."
Jarek frowned, glancing at the empty space at Kael's waist. "I've never seen anything hit that hard. How far does it reach?"
"Not far," Kael replied. "Ten paces, maybe twenty. Anything beyond that, and the power disperses."
Jarek nodded slowly. That made sense. It explained why Kael had walked right up to the madman before firing.
"But the impact..." Jarek murmured. "It tore him apart."
"It's a trade-off," Kael said, his voice flat. "Range for ruin. And it's not cheap. Every shot costs more than your monthly wage in refined materials."
He glanced at Jarek.
"Don't rely on it. It's a tool for ending fights, not starting them."
Jarek fell silent, digesting the lie. It sounded reasonable enough—powerful, expensive, and limited.
"Understood," Jarek said, satisfied—for now—and let the question drop.
Silas snorted and ended up at the back as the others poured out."Hey—wait up. Don't walk so damn fast."