Chapter 13: The Silent Blade

The road twisted through barren hills, the land growing more desolate with every step. Jagged rocks jutted from the earth like broken teeth, and the wind howled through the empty expanse, carrying with it the sharp bite of winter’s approach.

Drenic led the way, his injured arm bound tightly beneath his cloak. His sharp gray eyes scanned the horizon, every muscle in his body coiled for danger. Behind him, Serenya struggled to keep pace, her exhaustion evident in the way she stumbled over loose stones.

“You’ve got to tell me if we’re close to anything useful,” she said, her voice hoarse.

Drenic glanced back, smirking faintly. “What do you want? A warm inn? A feast? Maybe a miracle?”

“I’ll settle for somewhere safe,” she replied, shooting him a glare.

“Safe doesn’t exist,” Drenic said, his tone turning serious. “Not for you. Not anymore.”

His words hit harder than she expected. Serenya adjusted her satchel, her fingers brushing the pendant hidden beneath her cloak. Its faint pulse of magic offered little comfort.

“Then where are we going?” she pressed.

“There’s someone in the next town—if we can reach it,” Drenic said. “An old contact of mine. If he’s still alive, he might know something about that coin and who’s after you.”

“Someone you trust?”

“I don’t trust anyone,” Drenic replied with a wry grin. “But I trust him to know how to stay alive. That’s close enough.”

By the time they reached the outskirts of the next settlement, the sun was beginning to set, casting the land in long shadows. The village of Kaelthorn was smaller than Vreyne, its stone buildings huddled together as though trying to fend off the encroaching wilderness. A wooden palisade surrounded the settlement, its gates flanked by two weary-looking guards.

Drenic led them to the gate, nodding to the nearest guard.

“Travelers,” he said simply.

The guard squinted at him. “We don’t get many of those these days.”

“Lucky for you, we’re here,” Drenic replied, his smirk disarming.

The guard grunted but stepped aside, allowing them to enter.

The village was eerily quiet, its streets nearly deserted. A handful of villagers moved between the buildings, their faces pale and drawn. Serenya’s unease grew as they passed shuttered windows and doors that seemed hastily reinforced.

“Something’s wrong here,” she whispered.

“Something’s wrong everywhere,” Drenic muttered.

He led her to a small, unmarked building near the center of the village. The door was reinforced with heavy iron bars, and faint light seeped through the cracks around the edges.

“This is the place,” Drenic said, rapping on the door with the hilt of his dagger.

A moment passed before the door creaked open, revealing a gaunt man with sunken eyes and a permanent scowl. His hand hovered near the short blade at his side as he studied them.

“Drenic Vael,” the man said, his voice gravelly. “I thought you’d be dead by now.”

“Not for lack of trying,” Drenic replied.

The man’s gaze shifted to Serenya, his eyes narrowing. “Who’s this?”

“A client,” Drenic said smoothly. “We’re here for information, Marten. That’s all.”

Marten grunted and stepped aside, gesturing for them to enter.

The interior of the building was dimly lit, cluttered with crates and shelves filled with unmarked bottles, rusted tools, and piles of parchment. The air smelled faintly of smoke and damp earth.

Marten motioned for them to sit at a rickety table in the center of the room. “Talk,” he said, crossing his arms.

Drenic leaned back in his chair, his usual smirk firmly in place. “We’re being hunted. Shadowbeasts, mercenaries, magic—someone’s pulling the strings, and they’re using these.” He pulled the black coin from his pouch, tossing it onto the table.

Marten’s eyes widened slightly as he picked up the coin, turning it over in his fingers. “Where did you get this?”

“Off one of the mercenaries trying to kill us,” Drenic replied.

Marten’s expression darkened. “This is bad, Vael. Real bad.”

“I figured as much,” Drenic said. “That’s why we’re here. Who’s behind it?”

Marten hesitated, his gaze flicking to Serenya. “This about her?”

Drenic nodded.

Marten exhaled sharply, running a hand through his thinning hair. “These coins are called Shade Marks. They’re used by a group called the Onyx Veil. Assassins, bounty hunters, and worse—hired by powerful people with deep pockets.”

Serenya’s stomach twisted. “Why would they be after me?”

Marten eyed her warily. “What are you?”

Drenic leaned forward, his smirk fading. “That’s not important. What is important is how we stop them.”

Marten snorted. “Stop them? You don’t stop the Onyx Veil. You run. You hide. And even then, it’s just a matter of time.”

“Not good enough,” Serenya said, surprising herself with the force in her voice.

Marten raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got fire. I’ll give you that. But if the Onyx Veil is after you, someone powerful wants you gone. You need to figure out who and why—before it’s too late.”

As they left Marten’s shop, Serenya’s mind raced. The Onyx Veil, Shade Marks, and whoever had hired them—it was a web of danger, and she was trapped at its center.

“We’re no closer to stopping this,” she said, frustration coloring her tone.

“We know who’s coming after us now,” Drenic replied. “That’s more than we knew this morning.”

“Do you think Marten was right? That it’s only a matter of time before they find me?”

Drenic stopped, turning to face her. “I don’t believe in inevitabilities. We’ll figure this out. You just need to keep using that gift of yours.”

She frowned. “You’ve seen what it does to me. I can’t just use it recklessly.”

“Reckless or not, it’s saved our lives more than once,” Drenic said. “We don’t have the luxury of being careful.”

Serenya bit her lip but didn’t argue.

That night, they stayed in a small room above a blacksmith’s shop. The bed was lumpy, and the walls were so thin that every creak and whisper from the building below reached their ears.

Serenya lay awake, staring at the cracked ceiling as the events of the day replayed in her mind.

The Onyx Veil. Shade Marks. The shadow creatures sent to hunt her.

She clutched the pendant beneath her cloak, its faint pulse calming her.

“I need to find Vaylen,” she murmured to herself.

Far from the village, in the depths of an ancient fortress, a cloaked figure knelt before a circle of glowing runes.

“She grows stronger,” the figure said, their voice sharp and cold.

“She is still mortal,” a deeper voice replied, echoing through the chamber. “And mortals fall.”

The figure bowed their head. “The Onyx Veil will not fail again.”

“They had better not,” the voice rumbled. “If the Oracle reaches the Heart of Lumina, all we have built will crumble.”

The runes flared brighter, casting long shadows across the chamber.

“Find her,” the voice commanded. “And end this.”

The figure rose, their crimson eyes gleaming beneath the hood. “It will be done.”