"Rue, I'd like to speak with you and Dormin alone. Oren, wait out here with Layla." Damian pushed open the door to the Silvermoon Inn.
The journey from Eratiell to Riverdale had taken two long days. Damian spent most of the trip ranting about the foolishness of challenging someone like Catarina. Dormin tried to defend us.
"We had the advantage for a while," he said. "But Rue and I ran out of steam before we could do any real damage."
Damian's glare could have frozen a river. "What part of you would have died, don't you understand? Catarina is the most powerful mage-type operative we've ever had. We teach new recruits about her in classes."
Dormin scowled, retreating into silence.
Layla and I sat outside while the shouting inside grew louder. A sudden crash made me jump—a window shattered, and a drunk tumbled through it. I froze, then saw Rue standing in the doorway, his aura blazing with anger.
"Layla, heal him. Then you and Oren join us."
Her usually blank expression flickered with fear as she knelt beside the injured man. She worked quickly, closing wounds, and straightened once more, casting a brief glance at me.
"Come on." She grabbed my arm, guiding me toward the chaos inside.
The bar was a storm of overturned tables and scattered chairs. Patrons cowered under the shadows of flying fists and flying furniture. The bartender crouched behind the bar, wide-eyed.
"You two, sit," Rue said, pouring two drinks from an unmarked bottle and sliding them across the table. "I want to go over what you did well… and what you could've done better."
Layla's bow sat across her lap, fingers brushing it as she listened.
"Your skill with a bow is unmatched," Rue said, eyes assessing. "Even among higher tiers. But your reaction time is terrible. At your rank, you should anticipate or dodge attacks. Being wounded forced us to change positioning. Still… I'm considering you for Grade 3."
His gaze shifted to me, sharp and unyielding.
"Oren, you're unskilled. From what I've seen, a liability in most situations. With time and training, you could become a well-rounded assassin. But right now… you shouldn't be here."
The words hit like a blow. I sank deeper in my seat, feeling the familiar burn of failure. Rue lowered his head briefly, then straightened and took another drink.
"Don't take it personally," he said quietly. "Most who join the Society die before realizing they're not built for this."
Was it all for nothing? Every risk, every scrape with death, every ounce of effort… gone.
The illusion of progress.
I looked up at Rue, hate and frustration bubbling in my chest. The torches flickered, throwing long, twisting shadows across the floor.
"You're telling me… after everything I've endured, after almost dying, after getting beaten… suddenly I'm not good enough?" I whispered.
You feel it, don't you? The climb. The effort. The illusion of progress.
Tendrils of shadow shot up from the floor, writhing and snapping through the air. My muscles tensed.
A hand on my shoulder made me turn sharply, Dormin.
"Calm down. Now isn't the time."
I swatted him away and stood up fast, but a blur intercepted me. Rue's hand snaked around the back of my neck, heat blooming through my skin.
"Go ahead. Give me a reason," he said, his voice low.
Dormin and Layla moved instantly. Layla nocked an arrow, aiming for precision. Dormin flashed to Rue's side, dagger at his neck, crimson energy flaring from him.
"That would be the last thing you'd do," Dormin said. "He may be unskilled, but he's our teammate first. When he fights, we fight."
I felt my chest loosen slightly as Rue's grip eased. The shadow tendrils still writhed, heavy in the corners of the room, but I calmed enough to catch my breath.
"The illusion of progress," I muttered to myself.
Rue released me, stepping past the recovering drunk, leaving the room in a tense quiet.
Damian glanced around at the shattered bar, tables overturned and shadows clinging to the corners. "You three clean this up and pay the barkeep for the trouble. Oren, come to my office when you're done. There's someone who wants to meet you."
In a flash of flames, Damian disappeared, leaving us with the cleanup.
Layla returned her bow to its place and approached me, hugging me tightly. I pressed into her, letting my mind go blank for a moment.
"Come on. Let's get this done and go home. I could use the rest," Dormin said, handing me a broom.
The words still echoed distantly in my head as I swept.
You feel it, don't you? The climb. The effort. The illusion of progress.
We finished up, and Dormin handed the bartender a sack of coins. "Sorry about the damage."
I walked outside and was met with the crisp, familiar scent and sounds of Riverdale, the smell of brine and fish from the docks, the heavy odor of damp wood and sex lingering in the air.
I walked toward the docks, no reason really…just time to think.
There it was. Crooked and slanted, my home.
I walked toward it but hesitated right before the door. It had been almost a month since he died…and I could still hear it, like it happened yesterday. The slice from his blade. The quickness of it.
I felt a hand on my side. Layla.
"Is this…?"
"Yeah, this is home. Or it used to be." I pushed open the door.
Whatever was left inside was gone. Taken by thieves or bandits.
Layla leaned her head against me, then pressed a kiss on my cheek. "I'll leave you to your thoughts." Then she disappeared as fast as she appeared.
I went inside. Moonlight shone dimly through the windows. I could still see the bloodstains on the rigged floorboards, bloated and old.
"You'd be so ashamed of me, Dad. I'm becoming the very thing that you warned me about."
Tears formed in my eyes as I slumped lower against the wall. I stood up and wiped them away.
"Someday, I'll make you proud."
As I went to leave, I caught a glimpse of something to my left. I drew my sword and slammed the stranger up against the boards of the shack.
"Figured you'd be happy to see me," a familiar voice said.
It was Valor. He wasn't in uniform and was unarmed.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, putting my sword back.
"I was in town visiting my father, when I saw you walking. Figured I'd stop and see what it was about." He walked into the moonlight. He was bigger than the last time I saw him, and something about his pose was different too.
"Care for a drink?" he asked. I looked back at my house. I shut the door and said goodbye. This was the last time I'd come here.
"As much as we'd both love to get a drink and catch up, we have things to do," a voice said, walking down the street.
It was Dormin.
I looked at Valor for a moment. "Duty calls, I guess." We clasped each other's wrists and embraced.
"It was good seeing you, man."
"You as well, brother. Stay safe." He gave one look at Dormin and scowled, then walked away.
"Ready to go? Layla is waiting for you at the bar. She made them get a whole case of dragonfire," Dormin laughed as we walked.
"You know, I don't think a case is enough."
● ● ●
The next morning I walked up to Damian's office. A faint taste of last night's bottles still on my breath. Before I could knock, a voice answered.
"Come in."
I walked in expecting to see Damian sitting casually at his desk. Instead Damain sat in a guest's seat while an older more built man sat in his seat. Damian looked back at me and grinned.
"Oren, welcome. I'd like you to meet Falkus, Grand Master of the Society. Apparently he's taken quite an interest in you and would like a word." His aura was so concentrated, it looked solid as opposed to all the others I had seen.
He held up a hand and Damian's grin disappeared. He followed it by waving him away. Damian immediately got up and walked out of the office.
The Grand Master looked up at me and smiled slightly. "Oren was it? Son of Lucas. It's nice to finally put a face to the name." He leaned back and waved his hand. A bottle of dark liquor appeared along with two glasses.
What the?
"Sorry Grand Master but." He cut me off.
"Please, there's no need for formalities. You may call me Falkus."
"I was just wondering what the Grand Master of the Society would want with me?"
He smiled and poured himself a drink.
"You're making quite the name for yourself despite only being here for a month. Everywhere I go its shadow magick this and Oren that. Did you know that people placed wagers on whether you'd survive the bandit camp. I personally lost close to five thousand gold on that bet."
I stuttered. So they knew. They sent me to my death and made bets if I'd live.
"Well here I am." I replied softly.
"Anyway the reason I'm here to meet you personally is …I have a mission for you."