Dawn in Iridale painted the city in pale gold, softening the hard lines of its stone towers and soot-stained rooftops. For a moment, it almost looked like a city at peace.
It wasn't.
Kael stood alone on the rooftop of the safehouse, the early sun warming his face. Though he couldn't see the sky, he imagined it—the way the clouds might drift lazily over the spires, the way the breeze tugged at banners and chimney smoke. His staff rested across his back, bound with cloth to mask its glow.
Down below, the city stirred. Merchants barked, carts creaked, and bells chimed to mark the hour.
But Kael wasn't listening to the city.
He was listening to the silence behind it.
A silence he recognized from war. The kind of silence that always came just before something awful happened.
Footsteps padded up behind him. Arinya's.
He didn't turn. "You didn't sleep."
"Neither did you," she said, joining him.
The two stood together in the wind. Kael's blindfold fluttered slightly, a mark of how high they'd climbed.
After a long pause, she said, "Whisper sent another message."
Kael tensed. "About the merchant lord?"
"Yes. But also... something else." She hesitated. "They want to meet again. Said it's urgent."
"Then we go," he said.
She didn't answer right away. Then, softly: "Kael... if you were told that keeping a secret could save lives, would you keep it? Even from someone close to you?"
Kael tilted his head. "Depends. Are you asking as Arinya the healer, or Arinya of the Verdant Court?"
She blinked. "You've known this whole time?"
"I suspected," he replied. "You're too skilled, too calm under pressure. You don't smell like a wandering sage. And I heard Doran whisper something about a 'green-blooded knife-ear' in his sleep."
She laughed softly, shaking her head. "So… what else do you suspect?"
Kael turned toward her. His eyes were covered, but she felt the full weight of his attention. "That you're not sure whether to help me... or hand me over."
That silenced her.
But Kael smiled faintly. "It's alright. I'm not sure which I'd do either, in your place."
Later that day, they met Whisper again—this time in the Hanging Garden District, atop a terrace woven with vines and ancient floral magic. The contrast from the grimy alleys and shadowy rooftops was almost jarring. Elegant noblewomen drifted through the garden paths, trailing perfumes and whispers of scandal. Magic floated in the air like pollen.
Whisper stood beneath a stone archway, cloaked in shades of gray, perfectly blending in.
"You've stirred the hive," they said as the trio approached. "The Crown's hounds are sniffing harder. One of them's already inside the city."
"A Seeker?" Arinya asked, alarmed.
"No," Whisper said, voice low. "Worse. A Whisperblade. Trained for extraction and execution. You have until nightfall before he finds your scent."
Kael frowned. "That's not much time."
"Then you'd best use it well."
Whisper handed Kael a folded parchment. "This is your ticket out. A passage rune encoded into a merchant caravan. They'll leave at moonrise. If you're on board, you're gone. If not…" They shrugged. "The Crown won't miss."
Kael accepted the paper. "And the merchant lord?"
Whisper's lips twitched beneath the hood. "Handled. Consider it a gift. You're more valuable in play."
Kael's fingers tightened. "Why help us?"
Whisper tilted their head. "Because chaos keeps the empire from tightening its grip. And you, Kael... are a walking calamity waiting to bloom."
Back at the safehouse, Doran was sharpening a dagger with far more focus than necessary.
"You really trust this contact?" he asked as Kael returned.
"No," Kael replied. "But I trust that our enemies trust even less."
Doran snorted. "Cryptic. You've been hanging around Arinya too long."
Speaking of whom, Arinya stepped out of the back room, tucking something into her robes. Her expression was unreadable.
Doran looked between them. "So what's the plan?"
Kael sat. "We leave tonight. The caravan route is through the Western Gate. Whisper's provided passage."
Doran raised a brow. "And just like that, we're waltzing out of Iridale with the empire sniffing our backs?"
Kael smiled grimly. "More like sprinting."
That evening, the three of them moved through the city in layers of disguise. Arinya wore a simple traveler's shawl, her silver hair dyed dull brown. Doran played a tinker with a hunch. Kael walked with his staff wrapped in rags, head bowed like a sickly monk.
At the merchant yard, the caravan was loading crates under torchlight. A guard checked papers, barely glancing at them.
Just as they passed through, Kael stiffened. He felt it again—the silence. Not the quiet of dusk, but the stifling absence of life. A predator's breath before the pounce.
Then a voice, smooth as velvet and cold as steel.
"Leaving so soon, Kael?"
The speaker stepped out from behind a wagon. Clad in black and red, with twin curved blades and a mask marked by a crimson sigil, the man moved like shadow molded into flesh.
Arinya froze.
"Whisperblade," she breathed.
Doran cursed.
Kael raised his head. "I was wondering when the Crown would send someone special."
The Whisperblade chuckled. "It's nothing personal. But the relic in your soul—it belongs to the Empire."
Kael slowly unwrapped the staff.
"I disagree."