The castle of Eden, always quiet, became a tomb.
Word of the supernatural stranger and the humiliated prince spread through the stones like cold water.
Servants whispered. Guards looked over their shoulders.
King Alistair called Noella to his solar the next morning. He looked aged.
"Noella, what have you done? That… man. What is he?"
"A solution, Father," she said, pouring him a cup of weak tea. "The only one we had."
"He cut a sword in half with a word! That's not a solution, it's a demon!"
"He is half-shadow, by my assessment. A realm-walker. A natural phenomenon. One we can use."
Alistair put his head in his hands. "Tombsrose will burn us to the ground."
"They will try," Noella corrected. "Volsei and I will ensure they fail."
She explained the pact. Coldly. Logically.
Her father listened. Despair gave way to a grim resignation.
"You trust him?"
"I trust his boredom. And his self-interest. He finds me interesting. As long as I remain so, and our goals align, he is the most reliable weapon in Brustain."
Alistair sighed. "What do you need?"
"Full authority over castle security and the guard. Immediate inventory of all food, weapons, and chemicals. A list of every noble, official, or merchant with known ties to Tombsrose or who has been particularly… exploitative of our weakness."
Her father nodded. He had fought his last battle. Now he would hand the reins to his daughter.
"It is yours."
\-\--
Noella's first move was not against an external enemy.
It was against the rot within.
Old Kael provided the list. It was depressingly long.
"Lord Greville," Kael said, pointing a calloused finger at a name. "Tax collector. Skims half the grain tithe for his own warehouse. Sells it back to the people at triple price in winter. Has three guards who break legs for late payment."
Noella sat at her laboratory table. Volsei stood by the window, watching the grey courtyard.
"Is he clever?" Noella asked.
"No. Greedy and lazy."
"Good. A simple object lesson."
She looked at Volsei. "Can you enter a locked manor house? Silently?"
He didn't even turn. "Yes."
"I need him removed. Not killed. Made an example. Can you do something… memorable? That leaves him alive to talk?"
Volsei finally looked at her. A ghost of something like approval touched his eyes.
"I can make him a portrait."
\-\--
Lord Greville's manor was a squat, smug building of imported stone on the edge of the town.
It was surrounded by a wall. Two bored guards patrolled the gate.
They never saw the shadow that flowed over the wall like smoke.
Volsei stood in the manicured garden. He could feel the thick, cloying energy of human greed. It was almost as tasteless as demon boredom.
He walked to the front door. It was oak, banded with iron.
He placed his palm on it. Whispered.
The lock mechanism inside snicked cleanly. The door swung open an inch.
He stepped inside.
The main hall was dark. Smelled of stale wine and roast meat.
A servant girl carrying a candle screamed when she saw him.
He put a finger to his lips. She froze, her eyes wide.
"Greville's bedroom," Volsei said softly.
Trembling, she pointed up the grand staircase.
"Second door. The… the red one."
"Go to bed," he said. "Forget."
She fled.
Volsei climbed the stairs. The red door was obvious. Garish.
He didn't open it. He stood before it.
He drew his knife. The worn hilt was familiar in his hand.
He thought of the cuts. Not deep. Not fatal. Precise.
He whispered.
"Umbra Scindo."
A series of soft snick-snick-snicks echoed in the hallway.
The door, still closed, now had several thin, horizontal lines etched across it at chest height.
Volsei sheathed his knife. He turned and walked back the way he came.
\-\--
The scream that woke the manor an hour later was legendary.
Lord Greville had opened his door to call for a late-night snack.
The top half of the ornate, red-painted wood, cut perfectly along a line, had fallen forward.
It hit him in the chest, knocking him to the floor.
When his guards rushed in, they found him gibbering.
Not because of the falling door.
But because of his four-poster bed.
The thick oak posts had been severed. All of them. At exactly the same height.
The heavy canopy and curtains had collapsed inward, burying him in a mound of silk and dust.
And on the wall above the headboard, cut into the plaster with impossible neatness, was a single word:
ADJUST
\-\--
By noon, the story was all over Eden.
Lord Greville, pale and babbling, appeared at the castle gates. He threw himself at the feet of the steward.
He confessed everything. The grain. The prices. The broken legs.
He begged for mercy. He offered to repay double.
Noella received him in a small antechamber. Volsei stood in the corner, invisible in the shadows.
"Lord Greville," Noella said, her voice icy. "Your… adjustment has been noted. You will return every grain you stole. With interest from your personal funds. You will dissolve your private guard. You will serve as a public overseer of the granary, with your accounts open to review."
She leaned forward. "If you steal a single copper ever again, the next cut will not be on your door."
Greville wept. He agreed to everything.
When he stumbled out, Noella turned to Volsei.
"Efficient. And communicative."
"It was mildly interesting," Volsei admitted. "The precision was a challenge."
"The other names on the list will be reconsidering their loyalties tonight."
"What next?"
Noella unrolled a map of the region. She pointed to a spot east of Eden.
"The Blackwood. A band of raiders has been preying on our eastern villages. They're supposedly independent. But Kael's spies say they're funded by Silverveil. To keep us weak and distracted."
She looked at him. "They have a fortified camp. Thirty men. Can you handle thirty men?"
Volsei looked at the map. Then at her.
"Do you want a message sent?"
"I want the problem removed. And I want Silverveil to know who removed it. But without definitive proof. Let them wonder."
A faint, almost-smile touched Volsei's lips. The first she'd seen.
"Ambiguity. I like it."
He turned to leave.
"Volsei."
He paused.
"Don't get bored out there."
He glanced back. His light brown eyes held hers for a moment.
"With you planning? Unlikely."
He was gone. A whisper of movement. Then empty air.
Noella stood alone in the room.
She looked at the map. At the spot marking the Blackwood camp.
She felt it then. The first real tremor of power.
Not borrowed. Not begged.
Taken.
With a blade in the dark and a mind in the light.
The game had begun.