Rafael walked home under the light of the sun shining down on him. His mind worked tirelessly.
The chief had to be dealt with—but not at the cost of innocent lives. Guards, villagers, even Sophia's brother… none of them deserved to suffer because of one man's rot. If he acted recklessly, blood would spill far beyond what was necessary.
That couldn't happen. By the time the house came into view, a plan had begun to take shape. He got in the house and went to a window, and peered through it to see his brothers, Draven and Malrek, sparring, fists colliding, laughter mixing with grunts of effort. They hadn't noticed him.
For a moment, Rafael considered telling them everything—laying out the plan, asking for help. Then he shook his head. Getting them involved too early would only put them in danger. …But he couldn't do this entirely alone either. He turned away from the window.
That was when arms wrapped around him from behind. "Where were you?" Sara asked softly. Rafael smiled faintly. "I was with Vivian." "Oh?" Sara's voice brightened. "When is she coming to visit us again?" "She's busy," Rafael replied. "She might not be able to for a while."
Sara hummed, then hugged him tighter. "My son… I love you. Even if I don't say it enough." Rafael turned to face her fully, chuckling. "You say it plenty of times." She laughed, cupped his face for a moment, then hugged him again.
That night, the three brothers shared a quiet meal.
They talked about nothing important—old stories, dumb jokes, moments that made them laugh. Sara had already gone to sleep, exhaustion finally catching up to her.
Rafael set his spoon down. "Hey," he said. Draven looked up. "What's up?" "I'm going to have to do something." The mood shifted instantly. Malrek raised an eyebrow. "Another bounty?" he asked with a light laugh. "Something like that," Rafael replied. The humour drained from the room.
Draven frowned. "Why? We're heading to the main province soon. Why take on a bounty now?" "It's not for money," Rafael said. "It's for the village." Then he told them everything. About Sophia. About the torture. About the chief. Neither of his brothers interrupted. When he finished, the room was silent.
Draven finally spoke. "So… what do you want to do?" Before Rafael could answer, Malrek leaned back. "He wants to kill the chief." Draven stiffened. "What?" Rafael didn't deny it. "How are you even going to reach him?" Draven asked sharply. "You'll be killed by his guards before you step inside his house." "I'll storm through," Rafael said calmly. "And kill him."
Malrek clicked his tongue. "Sure. Let's say you do that. Then what? The village will be left without a chief." "Don't worry about that," Rafael said. "I'll handle it." He stood and walked toward their room. Moments later, he returned wearing a dark cloak, its hood pulled low enough to shadow his face.
"Don't tell Mom anything," he said. "I'll be back before dawn." "Wait," Draven said, standing. "I can't let you go alone." "This is why I didn't want to tell you," Rafael replied quietly. "My plan only works if I'm alone."
He met Draven's eyes. "And if this goes wrong… I want you and Malrek to take care of Mom." Draven clenched his fists. "I'm your older brother. I'm supposed to protect you." Malrek spoke then, serious for once. "Draven… the best thing we can do is trust him. Rafael always knows what he's doing—no matter how reckless it sounds. He's the only reason I'm alive right now."
Rafael nodded. "But there is something you can do." Both of them looked at him. "Go to the church," Rafael said. "Protect Vivian and Sophia. The chief will come looking for her." Draven grunted. "Great. Babysitting duty." He turned to Malrek. "You put a lot of trust in this guy."
Then he looked back and realised Rafael was already gone.
Night clung tightly to the chief's estate.
The house loomed large—thick wooden walls, raised foundations, lanterns burning at every corner. Guards patrolled in steady patterns, boots crunching gravel, spears resting comfortably in practised hands. This was not a place meant to be breached.
Rafael watched from the tree line, counting steps, memorising routes.
Basement, he reminded himself. Torture room.
He slid a matchstick between his fingers, struck it once, and crouched low near a dry bush by the outer fence. The flame caught instantly, crawling hungrily through brittle leaves.
Rafael didn't wait.
He sprinted away and scaled a nearby tree, melting into the darkness as the fire began to spread. Shouts erupted moments later.
"Fire!"
Guards broke formation, panic overriding discipline. Buckets were dragged, orders barked, lanterns abandoned. The front of the house—once sealed tight—briefly stood exposed.
That was all Rafael needed.
He dropped from the tree, crossed the open ground, and slipped through the front door just as chaos swallowed the courtyard.
Inside, the house was alive.
Guards rushed past him. Maids whispered urgently to one another. Boots thudded against wood. Voices overlapped, sharp and frantic. There was nowhere to hide—no shadows deep enough, no corners empty enough.
Rafael inhaled.
Think.
The shadows answered before he consciously reached for them.
They climbed his body like liquid silk, shaping themselves with terrifying precision. Fabric formed—brown trousers, a blue tunic, a belt snug at his waist. His boots thickened subtly, shadow reinforcing leather, lifting him just enough to match the guards' height.
In less than a second, Rafael ceased to exist. he had disguised himself as a guard. He straightened, adjusted his posture, and moved with purpose. No one questioned a man who looked like he belonged.
At the far end of the hall, he found it—two staircases. One ascending into luxury. The other descending into silence. He chose the latter.
The air cooled with every step. Wood gave way to stone. The sounds of the house faded until only his breathing remained. At the bottom, a reinforced door waited.
Rafael opened it slowly. Darkness swallowed him. Beyond lay a spiralling stone staircase that descended even further, coiling like the throat of some buried beast. Rafael swallowed once and continued down. Light greeted him at the bottom.
A basement chamber stretched wide, illuminated by a single lantern hanging high on the wall. Two guards leaned casually near a barred cell, talking among themselves, unaware. Weapons lined the walls—hooks, blades, iron implements stained dark with old use.
Inside the cell, a man lay crumpled on the floor. He didn't move. Rafael's jaw tightened. He studied the guards. Neither faced the lantern directly. Neither was alert.
No killing, he decided. If I can help it.
The shadows slid from his feet, creeping along the wall like living limbs. One tendril stretched upward, slow and careful, until it reached the lantern. It wrapped around the flame and smothered it completely.
Darkness crashed down. "What the—?" one guard barked. "I can't see a damn thing!" the other snapped.
They shuffled blindly, hands raised, cursing as they collided with each other and the walls. In the cell, the prisoner stirred, confusion pulling him upright as he tried to understand what had happened.
The lantern flared back to life. Light returned.
The guards never had time to react. They lay unconscious on the stone floor, weapons untouched, bodies sprawled like discarded dolls. Rafael stood over them.
The guard uniform dissolved into smoke, shadows peeling away to reveal black cloth beneath. He pulled his hood back just enough to let his face be seen. The man in the cell stared, wide-eyed. "Who… who are you?" he whispered. Rafael stepped closer to the bars and met his gaze.
"I'm your way out of here."