In The Rusted Tankard Tavern, City of Blackvale – Xenon Empire
The tavern stank of sweat, smoke, and spilled ale. The wooden beams overhead groaned under the weight of years, their surfaces blackened by countless fires and candle fumes. A haze of pipe smoke hung thick in the air, curling around the oil lamps that flickered weakly against the encroaching darkness.
In the corner, where the shadows clung like old friends, sat Kael Vexis.
He was a man carved from the wilderness itself—his face all sharp angles and weathered lines, his dark hair tied back with a leather cord. A long scar ran from his left temple down to his jaw, pale against his sun-browned skin. His leather duster, lined with wolf fur, bore the marks of countless battles: knife slashes, arrow nicks, and the faint, rust-colored stains of old blood.
Kael nursed a tankard of Blackvale's infamous dark ale, the bitter brew leaving a familiar burn down his throat. Around him, the tavern roared with life.
"—five of 'em, I swear on my mother's grave! Dragon eggs, big as a man's head!"
"Bullshit. Ain't been dragons in these parts for centuries."
"Then explain why the Blackscale Syndicate's crawling all over Hollowfang Peaks, eh?"
Kael's fingers stilled against the tankard. His eyes, a cold, piercing gray, flicked toward the speakers—a pair of rough-looking miners, their faces flushed with drink.
"You certain about that?" Kael's voice cut through the noise like a knife.
The miners blinked, startled. One, a burly man with a broken nose, squinted at him. "Who's askin'?"
Kael leaned forward, the firelight catching the hilt of the hunting knife at his belt. "A man who pays well for good information."
The miners exchanged glances. The second one, younger and sharper-eyed, wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "Aye. Certain. My cousin's with the Syndicate's diggers. Said they found 'em deep in the mountain, wrapped in some kind of… glowing vines. Like the damn things were waiting to be found."
Kael's pulse quickened. Glowing vines. That wasn't natural. That was magic.
Before he could press further, a shadow fell over the table.
"You hearin' those rumors too, hunter?"
The voice was gravelly, the kind that came from a lifetime of shouting orders—or surviving knife fights. Kael looked up into the face of a man who could only be a Syndicate enforcer: broad-shouldered, with a jagged scar running from temple to jaw, and eyes as cold as a winter stream.
Kael took another slow sip of ale. "Depends. You selling or buying?"
The man smirked, sliding into the seat opposite him. Up close, Kael caught the glint of a silver tooth and the scent of expensive leather—out of place in a dive like this.
"Buying," the man said. He lifted a hand, and a barmaid scurried over with a bottle of something dark and expensive. He poured two glasses without asking. "The Blackscale Syndicate wants those eggs. And we want a man who knows how to retrieve things…quietly."
Kael swirled the liquor, watching the way it clung to the glass. "Quiet costs extra."
The man's smirk widened. "A thousand gold now. Ten thousand more when you deliver the eggs—unharmed."
A thousand gold upfront was more than most men saw in a lifetime. Kael let the silence stretch, watching the firelight dance in his glass.
"Problem?" the man asked.
"Just wondering why the Syndicate doesn't retrieve their own prizes," Kael said lightly.
The man's smile vanished. "Because the mountain's crawling with Imperial scouts. And because the last team we sent? Their heads came back in a box." He leaned in. "You're good, Vexis. But don't mistake this for a choice. Fail, and the Syndicate doesn't take kindly to disappointments."
Kael held his gaze, then tipped the glass back in one swallow. The liquor burned like dragonfire.
"Two weeks," he said, standing. "Have my gold ready."
The man slid a heavy pouch across the table. Kael weighed it—definitely a thousand coins—before tucking it into his coat.
As he turned to leave, the man called after him, "Oh, and hunter? Don't get any ideas about selling to the Emperor instead. We'll know."
Kael didn't look back.
The Hunt Began
The forest outside Blackvale was a living thing—ancient pines groaning in the wind, their branches clawing at the moonlit sky. Kael's horse, Onyx, moved like a shadow through the underbrush, his hooves barely disturbing the frostbitten leaves.
Kael didn't make camp immediately. First, he hunted.
A stag stood at the edge of a frozen stream, its breath fogging in the cold air. Kael nocked an arrow, exhaled—loosed. The shot was clean. The beast fell without a sound.
Skinning it was methodical work. His knife, honed to a razor's edge, parted hide from muscle with ease. The scent of blood and pine filled the air as he quartered the meat, wrapping the best cuts in oiled cloth for the journey ahead.
By the time his fire crackled to life, the moon hung high overhead. Venison sizzled on a spit, its fat dripping into the flames with a hiss. Kael sharpened his knives, the rhythmic scrape of steel on stone the only sound for miles.
Then—footsteps.
Kael's hand went to the dagger at his belt.
"Easy, hunter," came a familiar voice. "Unless you plan on skewering an old friend."
Julius Damas stepped into the firelight, his grin sharp beneath the shadow of his hood. He looked older than Kael remembered—more silver in his beard, more lines around his eyes—but the same wolfish cunning lurked in his gaze.
Kael relaxed—slightly. "Julius. Should've known I'd run into you out here."
Julius chuckled, dropping a bundle of firewood beside the flames. "The world's smaller than you think. Mind if I share your fire?"
Kael shrugged. "Long as you don't eat all my damn venison."
Julius laughed, pulling a flask from his coat and taking a swig. He offered it to Kael, who accepted with a nod. The liquor was strong, spiced with something that warmed the bones.
"Still as hospitable as ever,"Julius said, tearing off a strip of meat.
They ate in silence for a while, the fire popping between them. Then Julius tilted his head.
"So. Where you headed?"
Kael wiped grease from his mouth with the back of his hand. "Nowhere special."
Julius raised an eyebrow. "You? Nowhere special? That's a first."
Kael smirked but said nothing.
Julius's gaze sharpened. "You're hiding something."
Kael met his eyes, the firelight reflecting in his cold, unreadable stare. "Aren't we all?"
A beat of silence. Then Julius grinned, though his eyes remained wary. "Fair enough."
But as the fire burned low, Julius couldn't shake the feeling—Kael was after something big. And secrets, in their world, had a way of turning deadly.