Dawn broke over the horizon, pale gold and pink spilling across the sky like spilled paint as we gathered outside the hideout. The air was crisp, carrying the faint tang of dew and stone—a quiet promise of a new start. Today marked the first step in rebuilding what was left of the Shadow Hand. And finding those who could help us track Zolphan down, the shadow that haunted every move we made.


    Kaelen pulled me aside before we left, his grip firm on my arm, his tone low but serious—gravel underfoot. "Listen. There are rumors about Corven." His eyes narrowed, dark and piercing, searching mine for understanding, a flicker of unease beneath his calm. "People say he''s not... human. I never could figure out his true motives, even when I worked with him. Be wary."


    I nodded, the warning settling like a stone in my gut. "I will be." Little did I know what I would be stepping into—how deep that wariness would need to run.


    Before I could take another step, Torglel clapped me on the back hard enough to make me stagger, his booming laugh cutting through the morning stillness. "Oi! Solari!" He grinned, all teeth and mischief, blue eyes glinting. "Ten gold says I make it back before you!"


    I smirked, steadying myself against his enthusiasm. "You''re on."


    With that, we split off—each of us heading in different directions, shadows stretching long across the earth. I watched them go for a moment—Kaelen''s silent stride, Laboritus''s measured pace, Torglel''s swagger—then turned my focus forward. Alythiel fell into step beside me as we set out toward Adarestia Forest, her silver hair catching the dawn light like a beacon.


    After a while, she spoke, her voice soft against the crunch of leaves underfoot. "Do you think rebuilding an assassin''s guild is really the right move to find Zolphan?"


    Her tone was calm, but I caught the weight behind it—doubt laced with something deeper, a question of where this path might lead us.


    "Building a trusted network to find information is the best shot we have," I answered, keeping my eyes on the trail ahead. "And it just so happens my old guild is the perfect way to do it."


    She sighed softly, a sound that carried more than words. "That may be true. It might produce results... but at what cost?"


    I stopped, turning to face her fully, the forest''s hush wrapping around us. "The Hand may be morally gray, but they aren''t inherently evil," I said, voice firm but steady. "Torglel and I are both members. You trust us."


    She took my hand gently, her touch warm, but there was fire in her gaze—moonstone eyes burning with resolve. "Just promise me you''ll go about this the right way," she said. "Don''t become a monster to find one."


    I met her stare without flinching, her words echoing in my skull. "I will never be a monster like him." I wonder still if I never was—if that line was as clear as I wanted it to be.


    We approached the cave in silence—so quiet you could hear a pin drop, the stillness pressing against my ears like a held breath.


    The air was heavy, thick with the stench of death—rotting flesh and coppery blood clogging my throat. Nox Arcanus bodies, dozens of them, lay scattered across the stone floor, twisted and pale, their dark robes splayed like broken wings. Each one killed with surgical precision—throats slit clean, bodies drained of every drop of blood, pools of it long dried into the cracks.


    I drew my blades slowly, the metal whispering in the stillness, a familiar weight steadying my pulse. Alythiel knelt by one of the corpses, her expression dark, brows furrowed as she traced a finger along a cut—too perfect, too deliberate. "This isn''t natural," she said, her daggers gleaming in her hands, runes faintly pulsing. "I don''t like this at all."


    Neither did I—the unease crawled up my spine like ice.


    We moved deeper into the cave, every footstep echoing louder than it should have, bouncing off the damp walls. There was something about the silence—it wasn''t emptiness. It was anticipation, thick and alive, like the cave itself was holding its breath, watching us with unseen eyes.


    The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, a prickle of warning I couldn''t shake.


    Then a voice slithered out of the darkness, smooth as silk, colder then ice—a sound that broke through the quiet. "A Drydalis and a Falstarian... what an interesting pair."


    I froze, my eyes scanning the shadows, blades twitching in my grip. Alythiel shifted closer to me, her stance ready, daggers poised like fangs.


    "Have you come seeking my head?" the voice continued, almost amused, a lilt that set my teeth on edge.


    I took a breath, steadying myself against the weight of those words. "I''m not a betting man," I said, voice low but firm, "but I was told I''d find Corven here. And if I had to guess, that''s you."


    A figure stepped from the gloom, pale as moonlight, his presence chilling the air. His eyes gleamed like polished iron—cold, hungry, unblinking—set in a face too sharp, too still. "People call me a monster," he said, studying us with unsettling interest, head tilting slightly. "But that aura radiating off you, Drydalis, is absolutely demonic. Far beyond what your kind normally give off."


    He shifted his gaze to Alythiel, a flicker of curiosity in those dead eyes. "And you, Falstarian. Your aura is divine. More so than most of your kind. How fascinating... like a yin and yang."


    I kept my stance steady, blades ready, muscles coiled. "I''m rebuilding the Shadow Hand," I told him, cutting through his musings. "And I want you back in the fold."


    Corven''s lips curled into something that might''ve been a smile—if there was anything warm behind it, any trace of humanity. "My, my," he said, voice dripping with intrigue. "Would you still offer that knowing the same truth Arcainius knew about me?"


    "And what truth is that?" I asked, grip tightening.


    He chuckled, a low, hollow sound. "It''s simple, really."


    He smiled wide, revealing a flash of sharp fangs—gleaming, wicked, unmistakable.


    I couldn''t breathe, air locking in my chest. I kept a white-knuckled grip on my blades, dread settling like stone in my gut—a cold, heavy weight. "You''re a vampire," I said slowly, the word tasting like ash. "Why would Arcainius allow you into the Shadow Hand?"


    Corven tilted his head, still smiling, casual as if we were discussing the weather. "He struck a deal with me," he said. "I would stop feeding on his people... in exchange for missions. Missions that allowed me to satisfy my hunger."


    His eyes gleamed brighter, a predator''s glint. "I''ve been around since before the Great Dragon War. Do you know why?"


    I shook my head slowly, every nerve screaming to move, to fight, to run.


    Before I could blink, he was in front of me—faster than thought, a blur of pale death, his breath cold against my face. "Because I''m strong enough to survive," he whispered, voice a hiss of silk and steel. "Time and time again, they tried to kill me. And time and time again... they became my next meal."


    He lingered a heartbeat longer, close enough I could smell the faint copper on him, before stepping back with a lazy grace. "So, Drydalis. What can you offer me? The same deal as Arcainius?"


    I forced myself to breathe, shoving the dread down deep. "No," I said, voice steady despite the pounding in my chest. "I have a different deal in mind."


    Corven''s expression shifted—interest flickering in his dead eyes, a spark of something alive.


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    "You help me find Nox Arcanus," I said, each word deliberate. "And you can feed on as many of them as you please."


    For a moment, there was only silence—thick, taut, the cave swallowing sound.


    Then he laughed—quiet, cruel, a sound that slithered up my spine. "You have a deal, Drydalis," he said. "I wonder..."


    He stepped closer again, his voice dropping low, intimate. "Who''s the real monster here?"


    I didn''t answer him then, my tongue stuck, thoughts churning. Even now, I wonder that too—where the line blurs, if it ever was clear.


    As Corven followed us back to the hideout, Alythiel leaned in close, her voice low but edged with concern, her breath warm against my ear. "Are you sure this is a good idea? Letting him join back up? He''s dangerous. Clearly a threat."


    Before I could answer, Corven''s smooth voice drifted in from behind us, sending shivers down my spine. "Darling, I can still hear you."


    Alythiel stiffened but didn''t back down, her grip tightening on her daggers.


    "You''re right," Corven said easily, unfazed, his tone almost playful. "I am dangerous. But I''m only a threat if you make me one."


    He let the silence stretch, a deliberate pause, then turned his pale gaze to me—iron eyes glinting. "By the way, Drydalis... what''s your name? I should know it, since you''re strutting around like the new Grand Shadow."


    I met his gaze without blinking, steel in my spine. "I am the new Grand Shadow," I said, voice hard. "And the name''s Solari."


    Corven chuckled—a low, gravelly sound that echoed faintly off the trees. "I thought for sure Kaelen would take that mantle," he mused, head tilting. "And if he didn''t... well, that can only mean you beat him for it."


    He studied me a moment longer, something unreadable in his expression—curiosity, maybe respect, maybe hunger. "Oh, there is definitely more to you than meets the eye," he said.


    And the way he said it... he sounded amused, like a predator toying with its prey. I think he was—already playing the game before we realized we were pieces on the board.


    We were the first ones back to the hideout, the tunnels'' chill seeping into my bones as we waited in silence for the others to return. Hopefully, they didn''t run into trouble—but sometimes hope was as fragile as an eggshell, cracking under the slightest pressure. Moments after we settled, Laboritus came through the entrance with Varra at his side, her presence a steady anchor in the dim light.


    "Solari," Varra said, her voice warm and familiar, a balm against the unease. "Good to see you again. Laboritus has been telling me all about your adventure together."


    I felt a weight ease off my shoulders at the sight of her—broad-shouldered, unyielding, a rock I''d leaned on before. "Varra... I was relieved to hear you were alive."


    We''d been through a lot together—Torglel, Varra, and I. Years ago, the three of us had accompanied Arcainius on a diplomatic mission that went south fast—ambushed in a muddy gorge, arrows raining down. We''d nearly lost everything on that job, and it was Varra who pulled us out—shield raised, bloodied but unbroken, holding back an entire warband while Torglel and I regrouped, her roar drowning out the chaos.


    People called her the Walking Fortress, and they weren''t wrong—six feet of muscle and resolve, a wall that didn''t bend.


    Her great-shield was strapped to her back now, alongside her longsword, both marked with signs of hard use—nicks and scratches telling tales of battles won. The armor she wore—crafted from the bones of a dragon she''d slain herself—glowed faintly in the low light, a pale shimmer against the dark stone. There was a quiet power in the way she stood, but her expression softened as she stepped closer, brown eyes catching mine.


    "I wasn''t sure who''d still be alive after the Hand fell," she said, her tone quieter now, threaded with relief. "I''m glad it''s you."


    I nodded, a faint smile tugging at me. "Same goes for you."


    Laboritus stood slightly behind her, arms crossed, his seven-foot frame a silent shadow. His expression was unreadable, but I caught the brief glance he gave her—the kind that said more than words, a flicker of pride or something softer. She showed her emotions openly, a hearth''s warmth; Laboritus... not so much, his face a locked vault.


    Varra''s grin returned as she glanced around the room, shield clinking faintly. "Where''s Torglel? I haven''t seen that wise-cracking dwarf since I saved his hide."


    I smirked, leaning against the wall. "He''s still out there. Should be back soon."


    She nodded, eyes glinting with anticipation. "Good. I''d hate to miss the look on his face when he sees me."


    I chuckled, the memory sharp. "He still swears it wasn''t his fault the mission went south."


    Varra''s eyes gleamed, mischief dancing in them. "Well, he did get drunk and try to fight the chieftain''s son."


    I shook my head, grin widening. "And to this day he swears that was the diplomatic approach."


    She laughed—a sharp, genuine sound that bounced off the stone, warm and alive. "That''s Torglel for you."


    Varra and I reminisced about old times—tales of close calls and dumb luck—while we continued to wait for the others to return, the room filling with the faint echo of our voices. Soon enough, Kaelen came back with Nysera in tow, her small frame bursting through the entrance like a storm.


    Nysera was a bright-eyed goblin with a mischievous attitude and a sharp tongue to match—barely three feet tall, all wiry energy and green-skinned chaos. She was a master of illusion magic and loved using it to her advantage—twisting reality until you didn''t know up from down, a talent that let her blackmail anyone she pleased with a smirk and a wink. It was her illusions that got her sent on missions so often with Kaelen—two small people were hardly noticeable to begin with, but when one could kill you in the blink of an eye and the other could make you see whatever she desired... that was about as frightening as it got, a nightmare duo in the shadows.


    Her favorite pastime was using illusions on Torglel when he was drunk—turning his ale into snakes or his beard into flames, cackling as he flailed. People called her the Green Spirit because she was talked about like she was a myth—a flicker of trouble you couldn''t pin down.


    "Ohhhhh, the broody one is back—and so is Solari! You''re alive! Does that mean Torglel is too? Is he around? Is he drunk? Did he finally find a dragon to fight?" she rattled off in rapid-fire succession, her voice a high-pitched barrage that filled the room in an instant, green eyes wide with glee.


    Then, without missing a beat, her sharp gaze flicked toward Alythiel, sizing her up. "And who''s the pretty elf lady?" she added with a sly grin, bouncing on her toes.


    Alythiel gave her a shy but kind smile in return, silver hair framing her face like a halo. "Alythiel," she said softly, voice a calm counterpoint to the storm.


    Nysera grinned wider, showing pointed teeth. "I like her already."


    Her eyes darted between Varra and Laboritus next, narrowing as she blinked once, then twice. "Wait a second," she said slowly, tilting her head so far it nearly tipped her off balance. "You two... you look exactly alike. Like the male and female versions of each other." Her green eyes danced with curiosity, glinting like coins. "Twins? Cousins? Siblings? Please tell me you''re related or this is going to be very confusing."


    Varra just chuckled, a low rumble, while Laboritus gave no reaction at all—his face a stone wall, as always. I''m not surprised—Laboritus could stare down a dragon without blinking, while Varra wore her heart like armor.


    As Nysera continued on, chattering about Varra''s shield and Laboritus''s bow, Kaelen gave Corven a thinly veiled look of distrust—eyes narrowing, hand resting near his dagger. And Corven, standing silently nearby, caught it immediately, his pale lips curling into a slow, cold smile—more teeth than warmth, fangs glinting faintly. There was amusement there, the kind that made it clear he wasn''t worried—a cat watching a mouse skitter. If anything, he was entertained, leaning against the wall with a predator''s ease.


    Kaelen''s gaze held steady for a long moment, unyielding, but eventually, he turned away, jaw tight. His attention drifted back to Varra and Laboritus, and that''s when I saw it—the flicker of realization in his eyes, sharp and sudden. Nysera was right—they really did look like two sides of the same coin, their tall frames and stern features mirroring each other in a way I''d never noticed before.


    "Nysera," Kaelen said at last, his voice cool and measured, cutting through her babble like a blade. "Please be quiet."


    Kaelen had an unusual amount of patience with her, and even now, I still couldn''t fathom why—most people found her exhausting, a whirlwind of noise and tricks. But Kaelen... Kaelen never seemed to lose his temper with her, his calm a strange anchor to her chaos. Strange as it was, it worked—she paused, sticking out her tongue before hopping onto a crate to sit.


    "Solari," Kaelen said, turning his focus back to me, voice steady again. "I take it, since it''s just us, Torglel has yet to return?"


    I nodded, leaning against the table, arms crossed. "Might as well have a seat," I said, gesturing at a chair across the room, its wood chipped from years of use.


    As we talked amongst ourselves—Varra swapping barbs with Nysera, Corven watching with that eerie smirk—Torglel burst through the door mid-argument with a small gnome, his slicked-back hair still immaculate despite being covered in dirt and debris, a cloud of dust trailing him.


    "Listen here, you shifty con artist!" Torglel barked, shoving a well dressed gnome—slicked-back hair, polished boots, and a smug look of someone yanked out of a high-stakes poker game—deeper into the room with a meaty hand, his beard bristling with fury. "If you''d just come in the first place, we wouldn''t have had a problem!"


    Behind them, a massive half-orc followed, a wide grin splitting his soot-smeared face, tusks jutting like small daggers—unfazed by the chaos he''d clearly caused.


    Drennar Thorn—the best Veilcaller this side of Sainaro, a gnome with a silver tongue and a knack for trouble. He once pulled strings in Soreanth and sparked a civil war without lifting a blade, all smirks and whispers. You could trust him—as long as he was interested in what you had to offer, his loyalty a coin flip at best. People called him the Devil''s Tongue—nothing good ever came out of his mouth, and when it did, it was usually only good for him, a schemer through and through.


    The half-orc was Mavik Grell—imagine Torglel, but instead of a love for fighting, he loved to blow things up, his broad frame practically vibrating with glee. You had to keep him on a leash during missions because he was always itching to blast a hole in something—or someone—his hands stained with powder and ash. He earned the name Destruction''s Caller, and he wore it like a badge of honor, chest puffed out as he swaggered in.


    "Guys, it''s fine! I got us all out, didn''t I?" Mavik said, brushing soot and dust from his jacket like it was no big deal, his voice a deep, cheerful rumble. His grin widened, tusks gleaming in the torchlight. "You can''t say it wasn''t exciting!"


    Torglel''s face turned red beneath his beard, veins bulging. "You were as bad as our bloody pursuers! We almost met with Tharnak himself thanks to your brilliant ''escape plan''!"


    Mavik smirked, unbothered, scratching at a singed patch on his sleeve. "It was a creative solution. You''re welcome."


    Before anyone else could chime in, Nysera let out a sharp gasp and sprinted toward Torglel, leaping onto a crate to get eye-level, her words tumbling out in a rapid-fire barrage. "Torglel! You''re alive! Did you fight a dragon yet? Why are you covered in dirt? Did Mavik blow you all up again? Where did you find him and Drennar? Was he in a gambling den again, trying to scam the players? Did he win?"


    Torglel blinked, stunned, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water—for a brief moment, I thought he might be reconsidering every decision he''d made that day, his patience fraying.


    From the back corner, Corven chuckled, a low, chilling sound, clearly amused by the entire spectacle—his iron eyes glinting with delight at the madness.


    Alythiel shot me a pointed look that said Are you sure about this?—her brows arched, daggers still in hand.


    Kaelen was trying—and failing—to derail Nysera''s endless chattering, his patience visibly wearing thin, a muscle twitching in his jaw as he muttered, "Enough."


    Laboritus and Varra exchanged glances, both wearing matching expressions of Here we go again—a rare, silent sync that almost made me laugh despite the noise.


    The room was descending into chaos, fast—voices overlapping, tempers flaring, laughter clashing with curses.


    I clenched my jaw, then clapped my hands together, sending out a thunderous crack of lightning that rattled the walls—sparks snapping in the air, the table shuddering under my palms.


    Silence—sharp, sudden, every eye snapping to me.


    "Now that everyone is here," I said, my voice cutting through the quiet like a blade, steady and commanding, "let''s get down to business."