Chapter 2

I stepped across the threshold of the Hall.

The cold didn’t strike from the air — it seeped from the very space around me.

The silence wasn’t accidental. It was cultivated, polished, preserved.

It served as a symbol of authority just as much as the black stone beneath my feet.

The chamber, like Raven himself, was restrained, weighty, flawless.

Black and gold.

As if someone had clenched the night in their fist so tightly it bled precious metal — and from that blood, a throne room was born.

The walls looked like they had been carved from a single slab of onyx.

Tapestries lined them — golden-threaded patterns, figures from history.

I had seen them a thousand times, but never cared to find out who they were.

Like most others, I just walked past.

Furniture was minimal.

A few carved chairs.

One long table — black, veined with gold like cracks someone had disguised as ornament.

The ceiling soared far beyond reach, crowned with interwoven iron arches, like strands of webbing.

Sharp, strangely menacing chandeliers hung from above.

Their light was soft, but uneasy.

It flickered, like the room itself was breathing.

And everything — in perfect order.

In a place like this, even sound felt like an intruder.

***

I hadn’t even finished taking it all in when he appeared on the stairs.

Raven descended slowly.

His silhouette — a figure from another age.

Not the faded glory of something old, but the kind that still kept its blade sharp.

Hair the color of mist fell to his shoulders.

His mantle was heavy, dark, perfectly draped.

Everything about him said: I am not a guest, nor a ruler. I am part of the stone you were all carved from.

No one knew how old he was.

But if the rumors were true, some of his contemporaries had already turned into legends that began with “Long ago, in forgotten times…”

And yet he was still here.

And still dangerous.

They said many things about him: harsh, proud, heartless.

All of it might’ve been true.

But I knew that was only the surface.

His pride wasn’t born of arrogance — it was a shield. A necessity.

Without it, this city would’ve fallen long ago.

Kindness held little value among our kind.

And power without a mask never survived for long.

He reached the base of the stairs and extended a hand, wordlessly commanding me to hand over the letter.

“Greetings, Prin—”

A sharp hiss cut me off, snake-like and precise.

One finger pointed toward my face.

“Tsssk…”

He lowered his hand and, with a single flick of his nail, slit the envelope open and unfolded the letter.

His pale brows rose slowly as he read.

Only after a long moment did he lift his gaze — as if only now remembering I was still standing there.

“Greetings, Kai,” he said at last.

“Grave news you’ve brought me today. I had hoped, foolishly perhaps, that my premonition was wrong — that this message would hold answers, not more questions.”

“What does it say, Principal Raven?”

It was rare to see any hint of concern on his face.

Usually, he remained unreadable — his silver-gray eyes calm, steady, ancient.

“You’ve likely heard of the expedition we dispatched to the swamps,” he said. “Scholars were sent to investigate the appearance of the flesh-eaters on our lands.”

“Of course. I personally delivered Master Torelius’s orders to the participants.”

“They were expected to return by week’s end.

Three days ago, I instructed the Temple Guard of Ére — being closest to the swamps — to investigate.”

He paused, gripping the edge of the letter.

“The message you’ve just delivered says they found nothing.

Of the three wardens sent into the wild, only one returned.

Wounded.

Terrified.”

The silence around us somehow grew colder.

“He reported encountering something… foul.

Like the walking dead.

And judging by the torn armor and deep wounds, these creatures were strong.

Lethal.”

“The High Priest urges us to act. Immediately.

To protect the Temple — and our territory.”

Raven’s eyes darkened, but his voice remained steel.

“I see no choice but to act now.

Kai, inform the captain of the Watch.

Tell her I require her presence without delay for further orders.”

“As you command. Anything else I can do?” I asked, bowing slightly.

“There will be. But not yet.

Go.”

We exchanged a brief nod.

And I turned toward the exit.

***

My path led to the southern edge of the city, where the Watch building stood.

I didn’t exactly feel like showing up there with bad news — mostly because my relationship with Captain Kristine, head of the Watch, was... complicated.

Last time I made a joke at the wrong moment, she swore she’d hang me from the gate by the first body part she could grab.

Thanks to my charming personality, I made enemies faster than friends.

Others thought my jokes were out of place, my sarcasm hard to understand — but those were the things I was actually good at.

Small talk? That always felt like dishonest noise to me.

I walked briskly through the narrow streets until I reached my destination — the Watch headquarters.

It was a low, wide, square-shaped structure, built more for function than form.

It had way more windows than any civilian building — for a reason.

You could hear what was happening outside more clearly, and, if needed, shoot an arrow without wasting time on doors.

Inside were rows of weapons and armor, small resting rooms, and a spacious training hall full of targets and practice dummies.

The atmosphere was strict, always had been.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

The interior was purely utilitarian — though here and there, someone had hung a painting.

Even soldiers need something to look at besides blood and bruises.

I found Kristine near a dummy, drilling the new recruits on how to find the soft spots in an enemy’s armor.

Her appearance matched her rank.

Tall, lean, sharp-featured — with coal-dark eyes that cut through you like blades.

Her uniform was dark, tailored with silver accents that made it clear she wasn’t just another guard.

Her platinum hair was pulled back tight, held with a simple ribbon — function over style.

Kristine was a balance of strength, discipline, and elegance.

And her explosive temper only added to the image of a captain who could — and would — put anyone in their place.

***

The moment I stepped into the hall, she sensed me before I even made a sound and turned her head.

Here’s hoping I wouldn’t end up hanging in place of that leather dummy.

“Well, well — look who graced us with his presence! The Principal’s favorite bootlicker in the flesh! What brings you here, my lord?”

Kristine’s voice rang out, thick with sarcasm.

I had a feeling our exchange would go this way, but this time I had no intention of provoking her into another fury spiral.

“Hi, Kris. As disappointed as you must be, I’m not here to annoy you. Raven’s calling for you — it’s urgent. It’s about the expedition to the swamps.

Something happened. Something bad.

We’ve got losses — some wardens for sure, maybe even scholars.”

Her expression changed instantly.

“You know who?” she asked sharply. “Which of the wardens…?”

Gone was the mocking tone.

“I didn’t ask for names,” I said. “I rushed straight here from the Principal. Just know they didn’t make it back.”

She took a step back and, as if her balance failed her for a moment, half-sank into a crouch.

It hit her hard.

I’d never seen her like that before.

After a pause, Kristine pulled herself together and straightened up.

“Got it. So Raven wants to send someone else in... You’re free to go.”

I was just about to do that when her voice cut through the air again.

“Last time I nearly kicked your bony ass, you said this job would drive you mad before age ever did…”

There was a hint of challenge in her voice now.

Kristine shot me a look full of mock disdain — with the tiniest flicker of a smile hiding in her face.

I was ready to bite back.

“I wouldn’t call it a near miss. That time you—”

She shut me down with a wave that clearly meant shut up.

“Oh, stop whining. If you’re that bored, come with us to the swamps. Show off those spy skills you brag about so often — the ones that allegedly impressed half the girls in the city.”

The hall burst into laughter.

Kristine let her squad have their moment, then waved them to quiet and continued:

“It’s not an order. You’re not under my command. But it’d be a decent way to earn a shred of respect from the Watch. Maybe even from me.

Up to you.”

She crossed her arms and tapped her foot against the floor, waiting.

I stood there, stunned by the trap I’d somehow walked into.

For a second I wanted to blame her for the manipulation — but I knew better.

This was all me.

And to be fair… she wasn’t wrong.

I was tired of running letters and scrolls around the city.

A change of pace didn’t sound bad.

But this?

This wasn’t routine.

This was dangerous.

Not that I was a coward — but I wasn’t exactly ready to toss myself into death’s jaws either.

“Kris, I truly appreciate the opportunity to flaunt my dazzling talents and let some nightmare beast skin me in your place...

But I’ve got some urgent things in town.”

“What a pity...” she drawled with theatrical disappointment.

Kristine turned back to her squad, pulled a sad face.

More laughter. Whistling. A few poorly hidden snorts.

Then she spun back toward me and, with a few quiet steps forward, said low enough for only me to hear:

“Can I assume… you’ll change your mind if I tell you Madeline’s in the squad?”

Something flared inside me — a pulse of instinct. Or challenge. Or something closer.

I didn’t let it show.

I bluffed.

“Mads wants me dead as much as you do, captain. What’s in it for me?”

She gave me a crooked little smile.

There was something unreadable in her eyes.

She nudged my shoulder gently, then winked.

Did not see that coming.

“Don’t play dumb, sneak.

I’m not blind like Madeline — I see what’s there.

She’s not just a name to you.”

I froze.

She wasn’t.

But how much wasn’t?

Honestly… I didn’t know.

I’d always told myself it was friendly.

Familial, even.

But now?

That single moment cracked something.

With all the training, the running, the noise of duty — I’d never made space for… anything else.

Even if there was a spark, I’d buried it deep.

Kristine, noticing the strange silence that followed, added:

“We leave at dawn. Too late today — I’m not getting caught in those woods after dark.

You’ve got time to think.

If you’re not too busy soiling your pants — meet me at the southern gate before sunrise.”

I didn’t answer.

Just stared her down.

She pretended not to notice, barked an order to wrap up the drills — or maybe just the mockery.

I slipped out of the Watch house and headed home.

***

After more than two days without proper rest, I actually missed the place I called home.

Since I was young, I’d lived in a small but quiet two-story house near the library.

That’s where Zander had taken care of me and taught me — back when he was still the Head of the Sanctum of Knowledge.

From him, I learned a lot: about the past of our kind, how to live through the present, and how to protect what might come next.

After his strange and sudden death, Master Torelius took over the library.

By then I could look after myself, and Torelius had little interest in trying to fix me anyway.

He was too deep into chasing fragments of forgotten lore.

I stepped inside and gave the room a quick scan.

Everything was still in its usual place.

The dark stone walls were covered in maps of distant lands and nearly crumbling scrolls.

Across from them — shelves weighed down by leather-bound books, their spines thick with dust.

By the window — the one lit dimly by the streetlamp outside the library — stood the writing desk.

It was a mess: envelopes, notes, blank parchment, broken and working quills.

At the center of that chaos sat a ridiculously large inkwell — a relic from my mentor, who wrote like he was at war with paper.

I hadn’t touched much in years.

This wasn’t really a home — more like a place to sleep once or twice a week.

A wooden spiral staircase led to the upper floor.

Looking up, you could spot the weapons Zander had brought back from his travels: several swords of different lengths, an old human-made crossbow with intricate carvings, and a curved dagger stand with a grip set in blood-colored stones.

That blade was always with me.

Zander claimed it had a twin, lost to time and distance.

For all the simplicity of the house, his love for beauty and hunger for knowledge still echoed in every corner.

I was grateful to him.

Not for the things — but for the time we had.

Even if the bastard also left me with the nickname “Sneak,” which the whole damn city had embraced.

He taught me calligraphy and reading while answering letters that came to him from every direction.

He explained how the world worked — the old Gods, the new ones.

He taught me to fight — with blades, with bows, and most importantly, with the mind.

***

Finally, after a long overdue hot bath, I collapsed onto the bed and lay there, staring at the ceiling, twirling the dagger in my hands.

Candlelight flickered on the blade’s edge — like it, too, was unsure, wavering in and out.

I wanted to close my eyes and stop thinking.

But the second I did, the same damn question rose in my head again.

Should I go?

My fingers clenched around the handle, trying to funnel the thoughts out of my skull and into the steel.

I wasn’t some battle-hardened warrior.

Maybe, in a loose sense, an adventurer.

But a glory-chasing lunatic?

No.

I was a messenger.

My job was to deliver words, pass orders, and stay the fuck out of anything bloody that didn’t have my name on it.

So what was I doing?

I flipped the blade in my hand.

What would Zander do?

He wouldn’t ask.

He’d just go.

Quietly. Without hesitation.

If something had to be done — you did it.

His world had been simple.

Mine wasn’t.

And I wasn’t him.

It was one thing to play the fool and brag about knife skills.

It was another to risk your life for something that didn’t even involve you.

A few elves went missing — tragic, sure — but I didn’t even know their names.

Why should I care?

I pictured waking up tomorrow, stepping outside, grabbing another envelope, going back to the same routine.

Everything stays the same.

Simple. Predictable.

But if I say no now — I’ll say it again.

And again.

A year from now, ten.

I’ll still be that runner, living other elve’s stories, never writing my own.

I stared at the dagger again.

And what if I say yes?

Eventually, I drifted off.

Slept for a few hours at most.

When I lit the candle again, I glanced at the human-made gadget by the wall — the sun dialer, they called it.

It showed almost dawn.

Might as well try.

I could still back out.

I reached for my gear.

Then stopped.

Something deep inside screamed that there would be no turning back.

I gritted my teeth.

And kept packing.

This journey wasn’t promising anything good.