Vaeryn didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.
"You did well," he told them at the morning muster. "So well, in fact, that the Legion wishes to… trust you further."
Ezra's eyes narrowed. "That sounds like the kind of trust that ends with a blade in your ribs."
Vaeryn's gaze slid to him, cool and sharp. "Only if your ribs are on the wrong side of the deal."
The new assignment was simple on paper: escort a single prisoner from an abandoned watchpost to a Legion drop-point deep in the high passes.
"That's it?" Caleb asked when the captain left.
"That's it," Eliakim said — but his tone carried no relief.
Skyling — his ever-watchful tamed beast, padding silently at his side — flicked her tail once. She could scent the tension in him, though she said nothing.
They set out before dusk, following a narrow trail that snaked between cliffs and frost-bitten pines. The prisoner was hooded, wrists bound with a chain more ceremonial than secure.
By the second hour, Caleb's jaw was tight. "These tracks up ahead — too fresh. Someone's shadowing us."
Eliakim's mind raced. A second team? Legion scouts? Or the Queen's own agents?
It was Skyling who found the real danger. She halted, low growl rumbling in her throat, eyes fixed on the dark outline ahead. The "drop-point" wasn't a camp at all — it was an old gallows platform perched over a ravine. A single lantern burned on the post, swaying in the wind.
Ezra hissed under his breath. "This isn't a delivery. It's a stage."
Eliakim's stomach turned cold. And we're the performance.
He turned to the others, speaking low. "This isn't about the prisoner. This is about us. Vaeryn wants to see which way we run when the jaws close."
Skyling's eyes swept the shadows beyond the gallows — where faint movement betrayed watchers waiting.
Caleb's hand brushed the hilt of his blade. "So… do we follow the script, or tear it up?"
Eliakim's gaze swept the cliffs, the wind, the prisoner's still form. He could feel the board shifting beneath their feet.
"This time," he murmured, "we write an ending Vaeryn never planned."
The lantern's flame guttered in the wind — and then the trap sprang.
Figures in black cloaks surged from the treeline, crossbows raised. At the same moment, more shadows spilled over the cliff edge above, cutting off retreat.
Skyling roared, chains around the prisoner rattling as she lunged toward the nearest attacker, forcing bolts to miss their mark.
In the chaos, the prisoner's hood was ripped away.
Ezra froze. Caleb swore under his breath.
It wasn't just any captive. It was Liora Veyrn, the exiled daughter of the Queen herself — a woman both the Dark Elf Legion and the Queen's loyalists wanted for entirely different reasons.
Eliakim's mind raced. If they handed her over, they'd prove themselves to Vaeryn. If they cut her loose, they'd be branding themselves traitors — to someone, maybe to everyone.
"Orders?" Caleb barked, sword raised against a closing arc of attackers.
Skyling circled Liora protectively, her low growl vibrating through the snow. She was ready to defend whoever Eliakim pointed her at.
Eliakim's eyes locked on Vaeryn, standing calmly in the chaos, watching him with a faint, knowing smile.
This wasn't just a mission anymore. This was the first open move in a war of shadows — and one wrong choice would decide who became predator and who became prey.