Green carriage with an anchor sigil... Does he want to ignite a war? Fool. Harry thought.

  He hesitated, weighing his options. Answering might bring trouble from the wrong people. But defying the man before him promised only immediate pain. In the end, survival made the choice for him.

  "I think you're speaking of the Iron Moorers, Doo—" Harry yelled in pain as Corvus yanked his hair violently.

  "You think? Be certain, boy," Corvus threatened.

  "One of them is Darrow and the other has a scar running on his face. They arrived here a few days ago. Remember?" Elsyn prodded.

  "Uh... Yes! I'm certain! They are the Iron Moorers of the Legion," Harry said in pain.

  "Legion? The Frostbound Legion, right?" Elsyn asked.

  "Yes. My patrons, the Silver Cartel, and they are not on good terms. Please, don't tell anyone of my—"

  Corvus slammed Harry on the ground and crouched close to him. "My patience runs thin, lad. Answer my question now. Don't take too long to think—or I'll have to assume that you're lying... You wouldn't lie to me, would you... Harry?"

  Harry cowered beneath Corvus's gaze. He stammered out the directions to the slavers—the Iron Moorers.

  Leaving behind a wrecked tavern, Corvus and Elsyn rushed toward the location described by Harry.

  Unbeknownst to them, a figure silently trailed behind them.

  Daylight waned, shadows deepened, and with them the civil side of the Hearth withdrew behind its walls.

  Urgency swept through Elsyn's mind; she knew what night meant in Bleakmoor Hearth—night wars.

  She did not know of its true nature, but if the horrors of the day were any indication, she dared not imagine what the night beckoned.

  Lost in that urgency, Corvus failed to notice the figure that had been following them for over an hour.

  Bleakmoor Hearth was a vast place with streets upon streets intertwined everywhere. For outsiders, the place resembled an endless labyrinth, with vile beings prowling about.

  They asked for directions, stumbled into dead ends, asked again—and repeat. The tedious cycle went on for some time before they finally reached the location. Twilight had set by then.

  Harry had mentioned a red three-storied circular-building. The Iron Moorers and other affiliates of the Frostbound Legion used this as an outpost.

  The grounds were cluttered with carriages, and enslavers patrolled the area.

  "Look for a carriage with a black metal box. They should be in it," Elsyn told Corvus.

  "Got it. You stay here, out of sight. I'll let you know once I've located it."

  Elsyn nodded and kept watch from distance.

  Corvus scaled a nearby building and crouched low at the top, surveying the area.

  Twenty four armed people guarded the parimeter, moving between seven rows of carriages.

  Doable.

  Next, he looked for the carriage. There were four metal carriages that matched Elsyn's description.

  And that's done.

  He climbed down the building and met Elsyn—his expression suddenly changed. Cold. Ominous.

  He placed a hand on his blade. "Be very careful of what you do next, girl." His tone was even and bereft of any emotion.

  "I'm sorry Corvus, I didn't notice anyone approaching," Elsyn said, her voice strained.

  "It's not your fault. It's mine. I should've been more attentive," Corvus addressed Elsyn, then focused behind her.

  "I won't give you another warning. Back off, girl."

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  Concealed by Elsyn's frame, a short woman stood with her sword pressed against Elsyn's neck.

  There was no opening for Corvus to strike without harming Elsyn first.

  "Girl? Don't let my short height fool you—I'm a full grown woman," the short woman, her tone sharp but strangely playfull. "The name's Ravina. Ravina Brineheart. Pleasure to make your acquaintance Doomwarden Corvus."

  Corvus and Elsyn looked at each other in utter confusion.

  Do I have long-lost twin brother? Corvus thought.

  Does he have a twin he doesn't know about? Elsyn thought.

  "Miss Ravina, you have—aah..." Elsyn tried to clarify the misunderstanding.

  But Ravina cut her off—literally. Her blade slid a few inches into Elsyn's back.

  "Miss Ravina is the one doing the talking, if that's alright with you, girl. This goes for you too, Doomwarden," Ravina said, and again placed the blade against Elsyn's neck.

  She continued, "I know you care about this girl enough to not want to not risk her life. Otherwise, you'd have made your move already. So don't even bother pretending otherwise—I'll rather spare us both that tired little drama...

  Judging from your stunt back at the tavern, I think it's safe to assume that you're a Mundukar. I know I don't stand a chance against you, but if you so much as breathe the wrong way..."

  Ravina flicked her blade, grazing Elsyn's neck, and spattering a few drops of blood on the ground.

  Ravina smiled. "... I think you get the idea."

  Dim light of twilight had given way to murk, which veiled Corvus's features to common eyes. But they did nothing to hide his thoughts.

  She dies.

  "Now, I'll ask a question and this girl—"

  "Elsyn, not girl," Elsyn curtly interrupted Ravina.

  Ravina paused, her blade hovering inches from Elsyn's throat, as if deciding whether the punishment was worth her time.

  Corvus focused intently on Ravina's grip, ready for the slightest motion.

  But in the end, nothing happened.

  "Sure, why not, Elsyn. Just don't again make me wonder whether to dispose of you. That'd an easy choice to make... a very easy one. Understood?" Ravina said.

  Elsyn slowly nodded.

  "Good. Now, where were we... Yes! I'll ask a question and Elsyn here will very quietly whisper the answer to me. Then you, Doomwarden, will respond, and if your answers don't match, I hurt her... I hurt her very bad."

  Corvus betrayed no emotion. He silently kept listening to Ravina while looking for an opening to strike.

  "First question: why is a high ranking member of the Kin here in enemy territory alone... with a burden?"

  "To save my friends who have been enslaved," Elsyn whispered.

  "Your turn, Doomwarden—your companion has spoken," Ravina told Corvus.

  "To rescue some enslaved children; her friends," Corvus replied.

  Ravina chuckled softly. "A Doomwarden doing charity? Now that's news. Those children must be quite precious to your organization, enough to warrant your dispatch, at least."

  She tilted her head, thought for a second and said, "Second question: where are they?"

  Corvus explained the situation—the patrol, the carriages—and waited for Ravina's instructions.

  "Bringing in you alone would be good enough," Ravina mused aloud. "But those children sound like a wild card. What should I do? Bring the Doomwarden alone? Or take the children too?... Let's do both."

  She continued, "It's said that a Mundukar with true mastery of Unity can face—perhaps even defeat—five thousand warriors at once. Surely, you can handle twenty four patrols; they're barely even proper soldiers."

  She curtly gestured for him to go now.

  By now, dusk had cloaked much of Corvus's features. When he moved, his speed blurred beyond human perception. For someone like Ravina, it almost looked as though he vanished into thin air.

  A flicker of unease crept through her composure. If he strikes from my blind spot, will I see it coming?

  Her heartbeats quickened.

  Corvus, meanwhile, assessed Ravina. He could kill her before she can strike Elsyn, perhaps. But perhaps was not good enough.

  There will be more opportunities later. For now, I'll play along.

  Clearing his mind of all distractions, Corvus focused solely on the task at hand.

  He drew his sabre-like blade, channelling his focus until it felt like an extension of his body. The blade's edge suddenly pulsed with lethality—cold, absolute, and final.

  Corvus dashed through the first of seven rows of carriages; only two enslavers were stationed here. Before either could notice, something akin to a gust swept past them.

  Their bodies carried on as though nothing had happened—until a heartbeat later their heads slid down. The precision of the cuts was almost surgical; their nerves still twitched in denial as life fled their bodies. A moment later, reality caught up, and they collapsed with a dull thud.

  The wraith had reaped his first kills.

  Next, the second row: five guards patrolled here. Oblivious and doomed.

  One of them, Gilda, was more dutiful than her peers. For her, the duty was almost sacred. She diligently kept an eye for anything out of the ordinary. Every motion, every sound was accounted for.

  The smell of metal paint and coal hung heavy in the air, dulling her mood. Every day she performed the same task with the same conviction, and save a rare few times, nothing ever happened.

  Today seemed no different; the familiar footsteps of her comrades, the occasional chattering, and then back to bed.

  Or so she thought.

  A flutter of fabric broke the silence.

  She shifted her gaze there and noticed something flicker.

  "A ghost?"

  The supposed ghost glided past her two companions in the blink of an eye—they remained apparently unaffected—and swiftly approached her.

  "Wait..." Before Gilda could even process what she had seen, the ghost passed through her. Leaving behind only the scent of blood and iron in the air.

  She turned to follow the flicker, but the view before her remained unchanged. She felt confused at first, then slowly dread sank in. She could no longer feel her body.

  Before Gilda could comprehend what had happened, her head rolled off her body.

  As her she slumped on the ground, the last sight she saw was of her companions falling as well—their heads severed just the same.

  With her final pulse, understanding dawned. It was not a ghost, for they merely haunted.

  It was a wraith, one that left ruin and death in its wake.

  And she, a mere victim.

  Death swallowed her in its eternal dark.

  Corvus, the wraith, ran unabated—unbothered—searching for his next prey with chilling resolve.