The carriage rattled over cobblestone roads as the city slipped by in gray silence outside the window. Jiyul sat across from Lord Kael and Lord Daren, the iron shackles still resting loosely on his wrists. He didn't speak. He didn't even glance at the passing buildings. He just stared ahead, his eyes as hollow as an old, unhealed wound.
Daren broke the heavy silence first. "We will remove those once we reach the estate. It is just for appearances. You understand."
Jiyul didn't respond. He didn't care about appearances.
Lord Kael cleared his throat, trying to ease the tension. "You will find our home quieter than the capital. It is a good place to breathe."
"I breathe just fine in chains," Jiyul muttered, his voice flat.
Daren chuckled uneasily, shifting in his seat. "Not anymore, you won't."
The carriage slowed as the gates to House Virel creaked open. The estate lay on the northern outskirts of the city, a modest fortress compared to the grand palaces of the high nobles. Stone walls draped in ivy surrounded dormant gardens, guarded by men in light armor. It was orderly. Clean. Quiet.
The carriage came to a halt. Two guards stepped forward to open the door, but Kael raised a hand to stop them.
"No need," the lord said. "He walks on his own now."
The doors opened. Jiyul stepped out, blinking as the filtered sunlight hit his face. His boots hit the gravel path with a dull crunch. The air here smelled different—wet stone, damp earth, and the faint scent of burned incense.
"Come," Kael said, walking ahead.
They led him through a quiet courtyard, past thin trees and shuttered windows, until they reached a long hall lined with scrolls and weapons on display. It was a gallery of history, but Jiyul didn't care for the past.
Daren stopped and gestured to a single sword resting on a velvet stand.
"This," he said, "was taken from you when they caught you. We had it returned."
Jiyul approached it slowly.
It was wrapped in aged leather and bound with blackened silk. The handle was chipped from years of use, and the sheath was cracked near the tip. To anyone else, it looked like junk. But Jiyul knew the weight. He knew the soul inside it.
His hand closed around the hilt.
Cold. Familiar. Alive.
"You remember how to use it?" Daren asked, half-joking.
Jiyul unsheathed it halfway. The steel sang like a scream in the quiet hall.
"I never forgot."
Kael stepped closer, watching the blade. "That sword... it doesn't just kill. It scars the soul. It isn't ordinary steel."
"I am not an ordinary man," Jiyul said, sliding the blade back into its sheath with a sharp click. "You knew that before you brought me here."
Kael nodded. "We did. Which is why we won't insult you with speeches."
"Good," Jiyul said. "I am not a fan of them."
They led him into a dim room further down the hall. Stone floors, a cold fire pit, and maps sprawled across the walls. A war room.
Daren sat down at the table and motioned for Jiyul to join them. Jiyul remained standing.
Kael began without preamble. "The assassination attempts started a year ago. Poison in our wine. Arrows in the courtyard. One of our carriage horses exploded in the street."
Jiyul smirked slightly. "Subtle."
"We traced it back to a faction in the southern kingdom," Daren explained, his face serious. "A noble family with ties to the capital. But we are still unsure who gave the orders."
Jiyul moved toward the window, looking out at the estate. It looked calm. Peaceful. Deceitfully so.
"Give me my own room," he said, ignoring the politics. "No guards at the door. I move how I want. Eat what I want. And when I ask for coin, you don't question me."
Kael and Daren exchanged glances. It was a steep demand for a man who was a prisoner just hours ago.
"Agreed," Kael said finally. "But we expect results."
"I give what I am paid for," Jiyul said. "No more. No less."
Daren stood up. "You will begin tomorrow. We need you to scout the city. We think the assassins have a local informant."
Jiyul turned to leave. Then paused at the doorway.
"One more thing."
"Yes?" Kael asked.
Jiyul glanced over his shoulder. The sword on his back felt like a ghost whispering against his spine.
"If you lie to me," he said, his voice dropping like a blade, "or if you try to use me as a sacrifice... I will gut this house open, from gate to grave."
He didn't wait for an answer. He walked away.
No salute. No thanks. Just silence, and the soft scrape of his boots fading down the hall.