The cold night air carried the distant scent of rain, mingling with the staleness of the slums. The sky above Velmire was overcast, thick clouds hiding the stars, leaving the city wrapped in an oppressive darkness. Aedric moved through the narrow alleys with measured steps, his cloak shifting with the wind. His mind was calm, but his pulse thrummed with anticipation.
Tonight, they would strike.
Lirian walked beside him, silent as ever. She didn't need to speak—Aedric could sense her excitement. There was something about moments like these that brought her to life, the quiet before the chaos, the moment before the knives flashed. Varen had already gone ahead, scouting the path to the ambush site.
They had chosen their ground carefully. An abandoned warehouse near the old trade road, close enough to Gorran's supply lines but far enough from the main streets that no guards would stumble upon them. It was a place where things could disappear, where men could die without a sound.
As they neared the warehouse, Varen stepped out from the shadows, his hood drawn low over his face. His sharp eyes flickered between Aedric and Lirian before he gestured for them to follow.
"They're on schedule," he murmured. "Six men, just like we thought. Two on the cart, the rest walking alongside. Light armor, but they're armed."
Aedric nodded. "And the route?"
"They'll pass by here in less than fifteen minutes," Varen confirmed. "We have the advantage, but we have to move fast. If even one of them gets away, we lose the element of surprise."
Lirian cracked her knuckles. "Then we make sure they don't."
They entered the warehouse through a broken side door, the wood creaking under their weight. Inside, the air was thick with dust and the faint scent of old grain. The ceiling was partially collapsed in places, allowing faint shafts of moonlight to filter through.
The others were already in position—six of them, scattered in the shadows. Fighters, thieves, and desperate men who had chosen to stand against Gorran's rule. None of them spoke. They all knew the plan.
Aedric took his place behind a stack of broken crates near the entrance, his hand resting on the hilt of his dagger. Lirian crouched beside him, her eyes glinting in the darkness.
They waited.
The silence stretched.
Then, faintly, the sound of hooves on stone.
Aedric's grip tightened. The cart rolled into view just beyond the warehouse doors, two tired horses pulling it forward. The men guarding it walked with an easy confidence, unaware of the eyes watching them from the dark.
Aedric's heart beat steadily. Timing was everything.
The first guard passed the threshold. Another followed.
Now.
A shadow moved from the rafters above, dropping silently behind the last guard. A blade flashed. A muffled gasp. The man crumpled before he could make a sound.
The others didn't notice.
Aedric stepped forward. Steel met flesh. He struck swiftly, his dagger slipping between the ribs of the nearest man. The guard choked, eyes wide with shock as he stumbled forward, clutching at the wound.
Chaos erupted.
Lirian moved like a wraith, her daggers cutting through the air with deadly precision. Varen took down another, his sword flashing in the dim light. The remaining guards barely had time to draw their weapons before they were overwhelmed.
The fight was over in seconds.
The last man tried to run. Aedric caught him before he reached the doorway, slamming him against the wooden beam. The guard struggled, his breath ragged, eyes filled with terror.
Aedric leaned in. "Tell me where Vask is."
The man clenched his jaw, refusing to speak.
Lirian approached, twirling a bloodied dagger between her fingers. "I'd answer if I were you."
The guard swallowed hard, his gaze darting between them. "He—he stays at the Iron Hollow," he gasped. "But you'll never get to him. He's got too many men."
Aedric studied him for a moment before driving his dagger into the man's stomach. The guard let out a strangled gasp, then slumped to the ground, his breath fading.
Lirian wiped her blade on a fallen cloak. "So what's the plan? If Vask's holed up in the Iron Hollow, we're not exactly walking in through the front door."
Aedric looked down at the bodies. The message needed to be clear.
"Make sure Gorran knows who did this," he said.
Lirian smirked. "That I can do."
She crouched beside one of the corpses, her dagger poised. Carefully, she carved a symbol into the man's exposed skin—a phantom's mark, the sigil Aedric had chosen for himself. By dawn, the underworld would know.
The Phantom was coming.