The door slammed shut behind Kaelen, the sound echoing like a warning in the dimly lit room. The flickering light of an oil lantern revealed more than shadows—faces lurking in the corners, silent watchers cloaked in darkness. The merchant wasn't alone.
Kaelen's instincts sharpened, but she kept her stance relaxed, her hand resting casually near the hilt of her blade. She wasn't here to start a fight—unless they gave her a reason.
The merchant leaned forward, revealing a face marked with scars and a grin that spoke of countless betrayals. His fingers drummed on the wooden table, nails yellowed and chipped. "You don't look like the type to beg for favors," he rasped, his eyes gleaming with amusement.
"I don't beg," Kaelen replied coldly. "I take."
A low chuckle rippled through the shadows. The merchant seemed entertained, his grin widening. "Then take this opportunity, girl. I've got what you need, but everything here comes with a price."
Kaelen stepped closer, unbothered by the tension thickening the air. "I'm not here to dance around words. Name it."
The merchant's eyes glinted with something dark, something predatory. "There's a man—Arden Voss. He's been a thorn in my side, dealing with goods that should've been mine. I want him gone."
Kaelen's expression didn't change, though her mind calculated swiftly. A hit job wasn't unfamiliar territory, but this wasn't just about eliminating a rival. The merchant was testing her, seeing how far she'd go for what she wanted.
"Why not send your own men?" she asked, glancing briefly at the shadowed figures in the room.
The merchant chuckled, a dry, hollow sound. "Because they're not you."
Kaelen understood the game now. He didn't just want Arden dead—he wanted to see what she was capable of. Fine. If that's what it took to get the information she needed, she'd play along.
"Where do I find him?" she asked, her voice steady, void of hesitation.
The merchant slid a crumpled piece of parchment across the table. A simple map, marked with an X. "He's in the Iron District. Runs a front for his operations out of an old tavern called The Broken Horn."
Kaelen pocketed the map and turned to leave.
"Oh, and Kaelen," the merchant called after her, his grin wicked. "Make it messy. Send a message."
She didn't respond. She didn't need to.
—
The Iron District was a different beast altogether—a maze of crumbling buildings, flickering lanterns, and streets that whispered secrets to those who listened. Kaelen moved through the narrow alleys with the ease of someone who'd walked paths like these before.
The Broken Horn was a rundown tavern tucked between two collapsed structures, its faded sign swaying in the cold breeze. She observed from a distance, noting the guards at the entrance—sloppy, overconfident, the kind who relied more on intimidation than skill.
Perfect.
She didn't go through the front. That was for fools. Instead, she circled around, finding a rusted ladder leading to the rooftop. The night cloaked her movements as she slipped through a broken window, landing silently inside the tavern's upper floor.
The place reeked of spilled ale and sweat, muffled voices drifting from below. She moved like a shadow, her steps silent, until she found her target. Arden Voss sat at a table surrounded by his men, laughing loudly, oblivious to the storm creeping closer.
Kaelen struck fast.
She dropped from the upper floor, landing with the grace of a predator. Her blade flashed—a quick, brutal arc—and one of Arden's men collapsed, throat slashed before he could scream. The room erupted into chaos, but Kaelen was already moving, a blur of lethal precision.
Steel clashed, blood sprayed, and in less than a minute, Arden was the last one standing, his eyes wide with fear as he stumbled backward, tripping over a fallen chair.
"W-wait!" he stammered, scrambling for the dagger at his belt.
Kaelen kicked it away with ease, pinning him against the wall. "You should've stayed in your hole."
Arden's plea died in his throat as her blade found its mark.
Quick.
Clean.
But she wasn't done. The merchant wanted a message.
She dragged Arden's lifeless body to the center of the tavern, carving a symbol into the wooden floor beside him—a crude mark only the criminal underworld would understand.
A declaration.
No one is untouchable.
—
By the time Kaelen returned to the merchant, her clothes were splattered with dried blood, but her expression remained as cold and unreadable as ever.
The merchant's grin faltered for the first time when he saw her. "I see you're efficient," he muttered, clearly both impressed and unnerved.
Kaelen stepped closer, her presence suffocating. "Now, your end of the deal."
Swallowing his pride, the merchant nodded. "vengurd 's not the only one with power. They made enemies—dangerous ones. There's talk of something big coming. A shift in the balance."
Kaelen's jaw tightened. "Who?"
The merchant hesitated, then whispered, "The twin kings."
Her heart didn't skip a beat. She didn't let it. But the name lodged itself in her mind like a splinter. She'd heard whispers before—rumors of two rulers with power unlike any others. She hadn't cared.
Not until now.
Without another word, Kaelen turned and left.
She didn't know what fate had planned, but it seemed her path was already tangled with theirs.
And she hated that.
---