Dawn broke over the horizon, pale gold and pink spilling across the sky like overturned paint. The air was crisp, carrying the tang of dew and stone—a quiet promise of a new start.
Today marked the first step in rebuilding the Shadow Hand—and finding those who could help us hunt Zolphan, the shadow behind every move.
Kaelen pulled me aside before we left, his grip firm, tone low—gravel underfoot. "Listen. There are rumors about Corven." His eyes narrowed, dark and searching. "People say he's not... human. I never figured 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." I had no idea how deep that wariness would need to run.
Before I could step away, Torglel clapped me on the back hard enough to realign my bones, his booming laugh splitting the morning stillness.
"Oi! Solari!" Grinning wide, blue eyes gleaming. "Ten gold says I make it back before you!"
I smirked, steadying myself. "You're on."
We split—Kaelen's silent stride, Laboritus's measured pace, Torglel's swagger. I turned toward the east. Alythiel fell in beside me, her silver hair catching the dawn like starlight.
After a while, she spoke softly over the crunch of leaves. "Do you think rebuilding an assassin's guild is really the right move to find Zolphan?"
Her tone was calm, but the weight beneath it wasn't. Not doubt. Something deeper.
"Building a trusted network is our best shot," I said. "And my old guild just happens to be perfect for that."
She sighed, quiet but heavy. "Maybe it'll work... but at what cost?"
I stopped. The forest wrapped around us like held breath.
" The Hand's never claimed to be righteous—but they're not evil either," I said. "Torglel and I have bled for the Hand. You know where we stand."
She took my hand, moonstone eyes lit with fire. "Then promise me. Do this right. Don't become a monster to find one."
I met her gaze. "I'll never be a monster."
Even now, I wonder if that line was ever real. Or just something I needed to believe.
We reached the cave in silence—still enough to hear our own heartbeats.
The air reeked of rot and blood, thick enough to choke on. Nox Arcanus bodies lay scattered—dozens of them. Pale. Twisted. Dark robes like broken wings. Each throat slit with clinical precision, bodies drained dry.
I drew my blades slowly—metal whispering like breath. Alythiel knelt beside one of them, tracing a perfect incision with one finger.
"This isn't natural," she said. "I don't like this."
Neither did I. The unease crept up my spine like frost.
We moved deeper. Footsteps echoed loudly, bouncing off damp stone. The temperature dropped to an unnatural cold.
The silence wasn't emptiness—it was waiting. Watching. A presence, unseen but undeniable.
Then came a voice from the dark. Smooth as silk. Colder than ice.
"A Drydalis and a Falstarian... what an interesting pair."
I froze. Eyes sweeping the shadows. Blades tightening in my grip.
Alythiel shifted closer, stance ready, daggers like fangs.
"Have you come for my head?" The voice asked, almost amused.
I took a breath, steadying. "I'm not a betting man," I said. "But I was told I'd find Corven here. I'm guessing that's you."
He stepped from the gloom—pale as moonlight, eyes gleaming like iron pulled from ancient earth, too sharp to belong to anything mortal.
"People call me a monster," he said. "But that aura... of yours, Drydalis. It's demonic. Far beyond what your kind usually give off."
His gaze slid to Alythiel, interest flickering.
"And you. Falstarian. Divine to the core. Fascinating."
He took a deliberate step towards us.
"You're not opposites. You're the wind and the flame—made to burn together, or burn everything down."
The words hit deeper than I expected. I wondered which we'd become—something unstoppable, or just another blaze waiting to consume itself.
I kept my stance firm. "I'm rebuilding the Shadow Hand," I said. "And I want you back."
His lips curled—not a smile, but close enough to lie about it.
"Would you offer that if you knew the truth Arcainius knew?"
"What truth?"
He chuckled. Low. Hollow. "It's simple."
He smiled wide. Fangs gleamed in the dark.
My breath caught.
"You're a vampire," I said, the word bitter in my mouth. "Why would Arcainius let you join the Hand?"
"He made a deal," Corven said. "I stopped feeding on his people... in exchange for missions. The kind that let me hunt elsewhere."
His gaze sharpened. "I've been around since before The Great Dragon War. Do you know why?"
I didn't move. Every nerve screaming to flee.
In a blink, he was there—cold breath brushing my face.
"Because I survive," he whispered. "Every time they tried to kill me... they ended up another meal for me."
He stepped back, graceful and lazy. "So. What do you offer? The same deal?"
I swallowed. "No."
Interest sparked in his eyes.
"You help me find Nox Arcanus," I said. "And you can feed on every last one."
The silence was thick enough to cut. Then he laughed. Quiet. Cruel.
"You have a deal, Drydalis," he said. "I wonder..."
He stepped close again, voice low. "Who's the real monster here?"
I didn't answer. Couldn't. The thought still lingers. Even now I'm unsure.
As we headed back, Corven followed like a shadow in silk—silent but impossible to ignore.
Alythiel leaned in close, her voice a whisper warmed by her breath. "Are you sure this is a good idea? Letting him rejoin? He's dangerous."
Before I could answer, Corven's voice slid in behind us, smooth and amused. "Darling, I can still hear you."
Alythiel stiffened but didn't flinch.
"You're right," Corven added, tone playful but sharp as glass. "I am dangerous. But I'm only a threat if you give me reason to be one."
Then his gaze flicked toward me. "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 eye. "I am the Grand Shadow. Name's Solari."
Corven chuckled, the sound dragging across the trees like a knife on stone. "I thought Kaelen would take it. If he didn't... then you beat him for it."
He studied me longer. A flicker of curiosity. Or hunger.
"Oh, there's definitely more to you than meets the eye," he said, almost purring.
And the way he said it... he was already playing the game. We just didn't realize we were on the board.
We were the first to return to the hideout, tunnels cold and damp as ever. We waited. I hoped the others didn't run into trouble—but hope was a fragile thing.
Laboritus arrived next, with Varra at his side. Her presence steadied the air.
"Solari," she said, voice warm, grounding. "Good to see you again. Laboritus told me all about your adventure."
I exhaled a little. "Varra. I was relieved to hear you were alive."
We'd bled together, the three of us. Years back, on a botched diplomatic mission with Arcainius—ambushed in a muddy gorge. Arrows like rain. We nearly died. Varra didn't let us. Shield raised, bloodied, roaring loud enough to shake the trees while Torglel and I scrambled behind her.
They called her the Walking Fortress. Because she held her ground like a mountain.
Now, her greatshield was slung across her back, its surface etched with deep, ancient runes. Her dragonbone armor caught the light, glowing faintly—veins of gold tracing along the scales, each plate shifting as she moved. Her armor showed its battles. So did her eyes.
She stepped closer. "I wasn't sure who'd survive after the massacre here," she said. "Glad it's you."
"Same," I said, voice softer than I meant it.
Laboritus stood behind her, silent as always. Seven feet of watchful calm. But he glanced at her—just once. A flicker of actual emotion.
Varra grinned. "Where's Torglel? Haven't seen that wisecracking lump since I saved his hide."
"He's out," I said. "Should be back soon."
Her grin sharpened. "Good. I want to see his face when he sees me."
"He still swears the mission failing wasn't his fault."
"He got drunk. Tried to fight the chieftain's son."
"He called it diplomacy."
She laughed. Loud, real. "He thinks punching is negotiating."
We reminisced while we waited, warmth threading through the room like firelight.
Then Kaelen returned—with Nysera right behind him, barreling in like a green whirlwind.
She was tiny and wild-eyed, sharp-tongued—a gremlin of chaos in goblin skin. Illusion magic fizzed around her like mischievous sparks, eager to cause trouble.
"Broody's back! Solari! You're not dead! Which is weird, 'cause I believed it so hard I pre-grieved! Is Torglel here? Did he punch a dragon? Is he drunk? Is he drunk punching a dragon? Is the dragon drunk too?" Her voice a high-pitched barrage that filled the room in an instant, green eyes wide with glee. She didn't even pause for a breath.
She spun toward Alythiel, eyes gleaming. "Who's the pretty elf lady?"
Alythiel gave a calm smile. "Alythiel."
Nysera flashed pointed teeth. "I like her."
Then her gaze hopped to Varra and Laboritus. She blinked. Then again.
"Wait. You two—" Her head tilted to the side. "You look like gender-swapped twins. Are you? Please tell me you are. This'll get weird fast if you're not."
Varra chuckled. Laboritus stared into the dark counters of the room.
Kaelen gave Corven a sideways glance—sharp and wary. Corven caught it, and offered a slow, wolfish smile.
Kaelen's hand hovered near his dagger for a beat. Then dropped.
He turned toward Varra and Laboritus again—then froze.
His eyes narrowed, like a blade returning to the whetstone. Something clicked behind them—recognition, recalibration.
Nysera was right.
"Nysera," he said, voice cold and level. "Be quiet."
She stuck out her tongue, twirled once, then kicked her boots onto the table with a thud. She grinned like sleep was a myth she'd personally strangled. Sparks danced at her fingertips.
"Solari," Kaelen said, turning back. "Torglel hasn't returned?"
I shook my head. "No, but he'll return soon."
We talked. Nysera pestered. Varra needled. Corven smirked like a shark.
Then—
Boom.
Torglel burst through the door mid-argument with a gnome in polished boots, his beard bristling.
"Listen here, you two-copper grifter!" he roared, shoving the gnome into the room. "If you'd just come, we'd have no problem!"
"I would have," the gnome sniffed. "But someone threw a barrel at me. My dignity's still recovering."
Behind them, a soot-streaked orc-blooded lumbered in, grinning like a bomb with tusks.
Drennar Thorn: a gnome with a silver tongue and a devil's grin, chaos stitched into every word. The Devil's Tongue, they called him, because he could twist truth and trouble into the same sentence and have you thanking him for it.
And Mavik Grell: orc-blooded, bombmaker, a calamity looking for a place to happen. Known everywhere as Destruction's Caller—and he wore the title like a badge. With arms like tree trunks and a grin that dared the world to get in his way, Mavik saw problems as things to be blown up, not solved. Rumor was, if you heard him laughing, it was already too late to run.
"Relax," Mavik rumbled cheerfully. "We made it out, didn't we? You can't say it wasn't exciting."
"You're worse than the ones after us!" Torglel bellowed. "We almost met Tharnak himself!"
Mavik shrugged, brushing ash off his coat. "Creative solutions. You are welcome."
Nysera gasped and launched herself up to greet Torglel. "You're alive! Did you fight the dragon? Did Mavik blow you up again? Where did you find him? With the dragon? Was there gambling? Did Drenny sell someone poisoned snacks?"
Torglel blinked. A dwarf reconsidering leaving Thoringard.
In the corner, Corven chuckled. A soft, bone-deep sound.
Drennar grumbled. Nysera cackled. Torglel swore. Mavik smoldered like a volcano. Alythiel raised an eyebrow at me that said: This is your circus now.
Kaelen muttered, "Enough," jaw twitching.
Laboritus and Varra exchanged looks. The same look. Here we go again.
The room was chaos—barbs flying, laughter clashing, people barking over each other.
This is what we're rebuilding. Not just blades in the dark. This. Chaos. Purpose. Family.
And if we ever get organized, the light might finally remember why it feared the dark.
I let out a heavy sigh and lifted my hands, fingers crackling with pent-up energy.
Lightning tore from my fingertips, splitting the room in a blinding flash. Thunder crashed in its wake, rattling the stones and sending shivers up the spines of everyone present.
Silence. All eyes on me.
"Now that everyone's here," I said, voice sparking like the air, "Let's remind the world why the dark once whispered our names."
And this time, we don't fight as shadows hiding from the world—
We fight as the storm it begged the sky to forget.
And when the storm passes—the world won't be left unchanged