The first light of dawn slipped through the crooked shutters of the forge, striping the dusty floor with pale gold. Adrian stirred the embers back to life, the bellows wheezing like an old man with tired lungs. The fire flared, spitting sparks, and the familiar warmth crept over his fingers.
Outside, Grayhaven was waking up with its usual grumble — the creak of cart wheels over cobblestone, hawkers shouting prices as they set up their stalls, the faint smell of brine rolling in from the harbor. This city never really slept, Adrian thought. It just dozed lightly, like a thief with one eye open.
His gaze drifted to the sword cooling on the anvil. Nothing fancy — a caravan guard's blade. But Adrian worked it with the same patience he'd give a lord's commission. His father used to say every blade carried a sliver of its maker's soul. Adrian didn't believe much of what his father said, but that line stuck.
Still, his mind wasn't on the work. It kept circling back to the alley last night.
The hooded stranger. The faint flash of gold under the cowl — not coin, but a crest. Two crossed feathers over a serpent. Adrian had seen it once before, years ago, in an old book his father kept locked away.
The Serpent Plume…
A guild people spoke of only in whispers. Couriers of dangerous secrets, smugglers of forbidden knowledge. Supposedly wiped out a decade ago. So why had one of them been watching him?
The forge bell clanged, jolting him upright.
"Morning," Mira said, stepping inside with her usual half-smirk. Her brown hair was tied back in a loose braid, though strands had escaped to frame her sharp, freckled face. "You look like you haven't slept since winter."
"Morning," Adrian muttered. "I slept. Sort of."
"Sure. And I'm Queen of the Eastern Isles." Mira strolled over, peered at the sword, and gave a low whistle. "Smooth edge. Good balance."
"Don't touch it," Adrian warned automatically.
She grinned. "Don't trust me?"
"Not with sharp objects."
"Fair." Mira leaned against the counter. "Hey, did you hear? Guards raided the docks last night. Word is they were looking for contraband."
Adrian frowned. "Contraband what? Weapons?"
"Books." Mira's tone held a hint of disbelief. "At least that's what people are saying."
Adrian forced his face neutral. "Books?"
"Yeah. Weird, right? You know how Grayhaven gossip is — sailor's cousin, neighbor's brother, everyone's an eyewitness." Mira tilted her head, studying him. "You sure you're okay? You're twitchier than a cat in a dog yard."
"Just tired," Adrian lied.
But unease tightened in his gut. Guards sniffing after forbidden goods, and the Serpent Plume showing its face again? His father's voice came back unbidden: Stay clear of old crests and older secrets, boy. Some fires burn too hot to forge with.
By midday the forge was a steady hum of hammers and trade. Farmers came for hoes, sailors for knives, even a pair of mercenaries wanting axes sharpened. Adrian worked with practiced calm, though his thoughts kept drifting.
Late afternoon brought another knock.
The man who entered wore a plain cloak, plain boots, and no visible weapons — yet everything about him was too careful. He moved like someone used to command, masking it behind a commoner's disguise. His pale gray eyes took in every detail of the shop in one glance.
"You Adrian Vale?" he asked. His voice was even, almost casual.
"…Who's asking?"
The man smiled — not warmly, not at all. "Someone with work for you." He set a pouch on the counter. Heavy. Too heavy. "Special commission. Three days. Deliver to the address on this note. No questions."
Adrian's first instinct was to refuse, but the man's gaze made his words stick. He picked up the folded parchment — no details, no name, just an address.
"Payment's in advance," the man said, turning to go. "And Vale?" He paused at the door. "Be careful walking home after dark. Accidents happen."
Then he was gone.
Adrian stared at the pouch, heart pounding. This wasn't a commission. It was a command.
That evening, Mira pushed through the door again without knocking.
"You're working late," she said, catching Adrian hunched over his bench.
"Something like that," he said, not looking up.
"Someone finally paying you enough gold to kill yourself?"
"Maybe." Adrian tried to laugh, but it came out thin.
"You're awful at lying. Who's the job for?"
"I don't know."
"Even worse at dodging questions." Mira's brows knit. "Then don't take it. Give the money back."
"I can't." Adrian's voice was quiet. "The guy wasn't asking."
When he told her about the crest, Mira went still. "The Serpent Plume? That's just an old story."
"They're real," Adrian said. "And they're watching me."
For once, Mira had no comeback. The forge filled with the steady hiss of hot metal hitting water, but the sound didn't make either of them less uneasy.
Two nights later, the blade was done.
Not a sword — a dagger. Slender, elegant, balanced to perfection. Adrian had outdone himself, though pride never entered it. The thing felt alive in his hand, humming with quiet menace, as though it wanted to be used.
He wrapped it in oiled cloth and sealed it in a plain wooden case. As midnight neared, he slipped into the streets of Grayhaven.
The moon hid behind clouds, and the whole city seemed to crouch in the dark. Salt wind stung his face as he passed the shuttered market stalls and silent alleyways. Every footstep echoed too loud.
Halfway to the address, Adrian froze. Someone was behind him.
Not close — not yet — but moving when he moved, pausing when he paused. He ducked into a side street, doubled back through the maze of alleys, but the footsteps never vanished.
By the time he reached the address — a boarded-up warehouse near the east docks — his heart was pounding. He knocked once, twice, the way the note instructed. The door creaked open just enough for a hand to snake out and take the case.
No words. No face. The door slammed shut again.
Adrian stood there a long moment, every nerve humming, then turned for home.
The footsteps followed.