Regulus pressed his back against the cold boulder, the river's roar drowning out his breathing. A week of following its path had led them here—a shattered bridge, its wooden beams jutting from the water like broken bones. And the corpses.
'Merchants.'
Their fine silks were torn, their packs spilled open, their throats slit with a precision that made his skin prickle.
Nyx leaned against the rock beside him, her shadow stretching lazily over the moss. "How dull. Dead merchants. Did they bore their killers to death?"
A twig snapped behind them.
Regulus moved before he could think—Numquam Itineris twisting his body, his dagger flashing toward the sound. The blade stopped just shy of a man's throat.
The stranger gasped, hands raised. His clothes were rich but ruined, his face streaked with grime and fear. "Please! Don't—don't kill me!"
Nyx tilted her head. "Oh? A survivor. How 'quaint'."
The man's eyes darted between them, lingering too long on Nyx. "Y-you're not with 'them'?"
"Them?" Regulus growled, keeping the knife steady.
The merchant swallowed hard. "The ones who did this! They're still out there—hunting the rest of us!"
Nyx sighed, examining her nails. "And let me guess. You want 'us' to protect you?"
The man nodded frantically. "I have money! Goods! Just—please, don't leave me!"
Regulus hesitated. The corpses around them were proof enough of the danger. But before he could answer—
A whisper of movement.
'I need to dodge.'
One shift later. An arrow embedded itself in the boulder with a hollow 'thunk', vibrating an inch from Regulus' temple.
Nyx didn't even blink. "Ah. 'Them'."
Five figures emerged from the treeline—not with the reckless charge of monsters, but with the terrible precision of blades being drawn in unison. Their lacquered masks reflected the dying light as they fanned out across the riverbank.
The merchant collapsed to his knees. "They'll skin me alive for running!"
Regulus' grip shifted on his dagger—Numquam Itineris already adjusting his stance—when Nyx's shadow stretched unnaturally long across the moss.
"Wait." Her voice carried a new edge. "You. Merchant. What exactly do you trade?"
"F-Far Eastern silks! The violet kind that—"
Nyx's eyes ignited with predatory delight. "The ones that shimmer like my domain at twilight?"
An assassin lunged.
Regulus moved on instinct, his body twisting where the skill dictated. The curved blade meant for his throat instead sliced air—but the counter-strike he'd planned dissolved as Nyx's hand clamped his shoulder.
"Change of plans, little moth." Her breath was winter against his ear. "That one dies, we lose access to 'proper' bedding."
The lead assassin shattered a smoke bomb at his feet.
Artificial night swallowed the riverbank.
"Fools," Nyx purred into the sudden dark. "You just invited 'my' guests to the party."
The shadows 'answered'.
Not by her command—the fading sunlight saw to that—but in eager anticipation. Darkness pooled from tree hollows like spilled ink. The assassins' own smoke coiled hungrily around their ankles.
Regulus felt rather than saw the first attack coming. Numquam Itineris jerked his arm up to block—metal shrieked—but the force still drove him to one knee.
"Problem," he gritted out. "Can't see to—"
The last sliver of sun vanished.
The riverbank 'shivered'.
Shadows erupted from every crevice, not attacking but 'herding'—driving the assassins into clumsy clusters. One man's blade passed harmlessly through the dark... only for the same shadow to solidify around his wrist when he tried to sheathe it.
Nyx's laughter was the sound of icicles breaking. "You brought knives to a war against 'night itself'."
The merchant screamed as a masked figure broke through—poison-dagger raised. Regulus' throw was pure instinct, the crude bone dagger finding its mark between clavicles.
The assassin collapsed.
Silence.
Then—
Nyx nudged the dying man with her toe. "Disappointing. I expected at least one dramatic last words." She turned to the trembling merchant, shadows still licking at her heels like eager hounds. "Now. About those silks you promised..."
The merchant pressed his forehead to the ground. "T-thank you, great one! N-name your price! Gold? Spices? I have—"
"A vanilla-scented featherbed," Regulus interrupted, wiping his dagger clean on a dead assassin's sleeve. "Stuffed with phoenix down. And jasmine-scented silk sheets. Preferably in violet."
The riverbank went silent.
Even the shadows seemed to pause mid-writhe.
Nyx's slowly raised eyebrow could have cut glass. "...'What'."
Regulus shrugged. "You've mentioned it fourteen times since we met. Figured I'd save you the breath."
The merchant gaped. Nyx's lips parted—then curved into a smile sharp enough to flay skin.
"Ohhh, my clever little moth," she purred, shadows coiling around his ankles in what might have been affection or a threat. "Aren't you 'full' of surprises?"
The merchant's nervous laugh died when Nyx's gaze snapped back to him.
"You heard the boy," she said sweetly. "And do pack extra pillows. I'd hate to come 'collect' if the order's... incomplete."
The merchant's face went ashen. "T-that would bankrupt me! I'm sorry, goddess, I can't—" He flinched as Nyx's shadows twitched. "I don't even 'have' phoenix down! But!" He fumbled in his robes, producing sample bolts of fabric. "My finest grade silks! Enough to smother in! See how they catch the light?"
Regulus stepped between them before the shadows could lunge. "Compromise," he said flatly. "You get his entire current stock of violet silk. No scent. No mythical feathers." He kicked the dead assassin at their feet. "And we don't leave him for 'their' friends to find."
Nyx's lips pursed. The shadows coiled tighter around the merchant's ankles. "You're 'terrible' at negotiations, little moth. I wanted—"
"To sleep comfortably," Regulus finished. "This gets you halfway there." He nodded to the merchant's packhorses trembling in the trees. "Those look like they're carrying at least twenty bolts."
Silence stretched. A shadow tendril flicked Regulus' ear in punishment.
"'Fine'," Nyx sighed at last, waving a hand. The shadows released the merchant. "But he carries it all himself. And if I wake up with 'so much as a thread out of place'—"
The merchant didn't wait for the threat. He was already sprinting toward the horses, shouting promises about "triple-layered stitching!" and "moonlight matching!"
Regulus watched him go. "You were never getting phoenix down."
Nyx's smile returned, razor-edged. "Oh, I know. But watching you 'try' to be reasonable?" She patted his cheek. "'That' was worth the lost bedding."