Aurelion walked the corridor like a shadow stretching along stone. The scent of blood lingered, iron thick in the air, stubborn enough to cling. Servants moved quickly, scrubbing, murmuring, bowing without meeting his eyes. He ignored them. Or maybe he did not care.
The council room doors were closed. Light flickered inside, shadows pressed against the panels. Not sanctioned — not by the King. A meeting happened, behind closed doors, whispered, tentative.
A scroll landed at Aurelion's feet. He bent, thumb brushing over the names. Not assassins — yet. Couriers, merchants, minor nobles, one or two of the high-elves who whispered in the Queen's name as if their loyalty were a shield.
And then the first strike came.
A blur — slender, precise, the air humming with something unnatural. High-elves, unlike humans, wielded magic through motion. Their blades were conduits, but also extensions of will. A shimmering aura flickered along the steel, a rippling field of violet sparks that whispered as it cut through the air. Life-thread manipulation, the elves called it: they could bind and twist a strike to target reflexes, muscle tension, even perception.
Aurelion's eyes narrowed. His hands moved before thought caught up. The first assassin lunged, a violet streak aimed for his chest. Aurelion sidestepped, letting the attack pass through the space he occupied a heartbeat too late for the magic to adjust. The blade bit stone instead of flesh.
He countered, fingers curling around the elf's wrist. A sudden pulse of anti-thread energy snapped outward — an invisible shock that severed the magical tether the assassin relied on. The elf stumbled, magic fizzing, breath caught in their chest, and crashed against the corridor wall.
Two more struck from the left, moving in tandem. Their blades glowed with the same violet shimmer, but Aurelion was already moving, already reading the subtle currents in the corridor. He twisted, parried with the flat of his hand — not the wrist — sending one flying sideways, the magical threads unraveling like a snapped harp string. The other faltered as Aurelion caught his shoulder, felt the pulse of latent enchantment, and grounded it with a subtle counter-charm only he could wield, born of years of arcane discipline layered over martial mastery.
The corridor rang with muted impact. Blood spattered walls and floor. Stone absorbed it, but the air thrummed with magical residue.
The fifth and sixth converged. One wielded threaded shadows, a technique that could wrap and immobilize. Aurelion sensed it too late — felt the pull — and spun. His elbow caught the attacker's chest with brutal precision. Threads snapped. The high-elf staggered, trying to stabilize, but Aurelion was already in motion.
A strike across the temple — no death yet. Only control. Only submission. Another elbow twisted the attacker's shoulder, breaking a sinew, unthreading magic as if plucking a string. The elf collapsed, conscious but incapacitated, magical energy gone, body shaking.
The last attacker — tall, precise, eyes sharp, magic bristling in ripples around the blade — lunged, threads like silver cords aiming for muscle, tendon, nerve. Aurelion parried, twisted, spun. He struck once at the wrist, snapping the magic conduit. He drove the elbow into the attacker's midsection, felt the spine buckle under kinetic force amplified by mental focus. The elf went down, grimacing, breathless, still alive — again, by Aurelion's will.
The corridor was a ruin. Stone marked with scuffs, walls streaked with blood. The echoes of both violence and magic lingered longer than they should.
Aurelion stepped over the bodies. Boots left no trace. Magic dissipated into the air, residue fading. Silence reclaimed the corridor.
The factions — Queen's factions — had sent the blade, tested him with enchanted assassins. They had misjudged the reach, the patience, the reflex.
If they had orchestrated this, they had miscalculated.
If not… if this was another force entirely… the kingdom's walls were not high enough.
Kaelen would not know. Not yet.
And somewhere, unseen, the factions counted the consequence.